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“JACK’S AFIRE,” 


—OR— 

V/f 


>rv^7 

THE BURTON TORCH, 


FLORENCE M. CAMPBELL. 


■ 


Chicago: 

J. L. Kegan Printing and Publishing Co., 
226 to 230 Lake Street, 





c 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, by 
FLORENCE M. CAMPBELL, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


W-. 


k-j 


TO 


The Nicest Man and Woman That I Know, 

THIS BOOK 

Is Lovingly Inscribed 

BY 


Their Daughter. 


PREFACE. 


In this every-day story for every-day people, “ Jack” is a pine knot, 
a beacon-lighted symbol of a girl’s life and work. 

We are all of us torch-bearers to “ let our light so shine before men.” 
The flickering light may not throw its rays beyond the home circle, 
but we hope it may at least light up our own corner, and it can al- 
ways throw its beams upward. ^^Tothing can be accomplished by 
blindly groping. 

The prevailing prayer of every worker should be an echo of the dy- 
ing petition of the grand old German poet: “ Light, more light!” 

With the advent of every worker in this broad world of ours, comes 
a work for that one to do. Our girls saw and did that work which lay 
nearest them. I end my brief introduction with a quotation from 
Aurora Leigh, not only for the duties performed by the heroines of 
this volume, but as a plea for the grand army of working women^ 
everywhere. 

“ Measure not the work 
Until the day’s out and the labours done; 

Then bring your guages. If the day’s work’s scant, 

I Why, call it scant; affect no compromise; 

And, in that, we have nobly striven at least. 

Deal with us nobly, women though we be. 

And honor us with truth, if not with praise.” 

F. M. C. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. Finale: The Word Pronounced and 

Spelled 9 

II. Merry Christmas! 15 

III. Texts and Meanings 23 

IV. Star 33 

V. Across the Line 37 

VI. Plans and Partings 41 

VII. Punning for Congress 53 

VIII. “If Madeline Were a Boy.” 60 

IX. Work, Wool and Wisdom 66 

X. The Torch is Lighted 81 

XL More Than “Two to Make a Bargain.” 88 

XII. The Torch Begins to Blaze a Little. ... 97 

XIII. “Bought Eeady Made.” 102 

XIV. Compliments 106 

XV. Alma Mater 112 

XVI. Full of Surprises 117 

XVII. Pleasant Days and People to Match. . . 132 

XVIIL The Day We Celebrate. 143 

XIX. Facts and Photographs 150 

XX. Changes: In Time, Place and People.. 155 

XXL What They All Thought 165 

XXII. Playing Keep House 175 

XXIII. A Worker and His Work 181 

XXIV. Holidays Away From Home 196 

XXV. Brain and Heart 210 

XXVL As Varied as Life 220 

XXVII. I Believe You 229 

XXVIII. Pesolutions and Peformation 235 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

XXIX. “In the Dawning of the Morning.”. . . 248 

XXX. Eevelations 256 

XXXI. Tragedy: On the Stage and Off 270 

XXXII. The Headlight 284 

XXXIII. Shorts, Middlings and Some Bolted Flour 292 

XXXIV. With a Clearer Vision at Last 302 

XXXV. “The House That ‘Jack’ Built.” 311 

XXXVI. A Sermon from the Headlight 322 

XXXVII. Crazy Work Patterns 329 

XXXVIII. Mrs. Crowan Takes a Trip 344 

XXXIX. Good Words 349 

XL. Happiness Passed Around 356 

XLI. An Editor Makes Two Blunders 369 

XLII. Object Lessons in Geography 378 

XLIII. Almost an Epidemic 391 

XLIV. ? and ! 402 

XLV. Searching for Best and Finding Content 409 

XL VI. Finale: The Word Partially Defined. . . 420 


JACK’S AFIRE, 

OB, 

THE BTJHTOIsr TOHOH. 


CHAPTEK I. 

FINALE, THE WOKD PRONOUNCED AND SPELLED. 

“Finale.” The word struck terror to the hearts of the 
trio that stood on the left of the old school-room. It was 
nearly four o’clock, and the school was spelling down; 
only four remained to contest the victor’s honor. The lit- 
tle girl, who stood alone on the right, looked steadily at 
the opposing force — three of the larger boys — and awaited 
her turn. 

“ P-h-e-n-a-l-y, Finale,” spelled Kobert Peyton, feeling 
his way carefully along the syllables. 

“ Next.” 

“Fee-na-l-y,” each letter growing fainter as he pro- 
ceeded. 

“Wrong, Ned!” 

“Fe — I can’t spell it!” and Will Brown, who always 
laughed when he was annoyed, giggled and sat down, 
vexed with himself for not knowing how to spell the word, 
and at Mr. Mills for pronouncing it. 

“As no one can spell this word, it is impossible to decide 
which is the champion,” said the teacher. 

“ F-i-n-a-l-e, Finale;” the letters are given in a sweet 
childish voice. Mr. Mills turned with a smile. “ Eight, 
Madie! I had forgotten you were there. We declare you 
the victor.” 


10 


jack’s afiee, 


There was a feeble effort to cheer her, but the young 
gentlemen were too mortified over their defeat to be mag- 
nanimous to the winner just then. “If it had been Rob 
or Ned, I wouldn’t have cared a cent; but I do hate to be 
beaten like that by a girl,” said AVill Brown, as they filed 
out of the old stone building and gathered in groups to dis- 
cuss the day’s events. 

“I knew how to spell the word, but I never heard it 
pronounced that way before,” said Robert Peyton. “For my 
part, I’mgladMadie spelled the school down. She always 
remembers everything. Mr. Mills told us the other day 
about that very word, and she was the only one who re- 
membered it, until it was too late. I remembered all 
about it just as soon as she began to spell it. Let us not 
bother about that now, we’ve got to get home and do the 
chores; to-night will be a grand one for coasting! Merry 
Christmas, Aggie!” As he spoke, Ned Phillips threw a 
soft ball of snow at his schoolmate, and turned homeward. 
“I will wait for Madie ! ” called Aggie, brushing the feath- 
ery flakes from her cloak. 

The winter’s sun had dropped behind the belt of wood- 
land, and, as if loth to leave a world so fair, bjiilt a lad- 
der of glory from cloud to cloud, and lifted himself to gaze 
once more on the quiet scene. 

A broad prairie, whose billowy outlines are softened by 
the mantle of snow, farm-houses here and there, farmers 
hurrying to and fro, for it is “chore time;” each yard is 
filled with patient animals, waiting to be housed. The 
band of children had separated into groups, and the echo 
of their “Merry Christmas!” came back from the hill- 
side as it was passed from one to another, even to the lit- 
tle band going “ cross-lots.” This group had reached the 
hill, and halted to wait for the little girls, as Madie had 
joined Aggie at the door, and both were coming rapidly 
toward them. “What made you wait, Mai? we’ll be late 
home now! ” “ There, Ned, don’t you say a single word! 

I hurried just as fast as I could. Don’t you remember the 
story mamma told us last night, all about ‘ Peace and good 
will?’ I thought of it, and of what Mr. Mills said the 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


11 


other day to papa, that he didn’t care to have a vacation, 
as he had nowhere to go. Mamma told me I might ask 
him to come to dinner to-morrow, and I did, and I wished 
him a Merry Christmas, too ! What do yon suppose he 
said?” “I don’t know, something cross, I presume!” 

“Ned Phillips! I should think you’d be ashamed! He 
said, and I just cried, too: ‘Little girl, do you know I 
shall take your good wishes as a Christmas gift, the first 
I have received in ten years ! ’ J ust think, every one of 
you, not a single speck of a Christmas for longer than I 
have lived! I just wish I could give him something to- 
morrow ! But everything I have is so dreadfully young ; 
may be mamma can help me, she always knows just 
what to do.” 

They had reached the low, rambling farm-house which 
looked as if it had stretched itself over as much territory as 
it could, because there was enough and to spare, and had 
settled down to rest. 

“ Good night, Aggie! ” 

“ Merry Christmas!” 

“ Oh, say, come over to-morrow, and tell us what Santa 
Claus brin^ you!” “Yes, if maisima will let me. Merry 
Christmas, all ! ” and Aggie darted away. 

“ Mamma,” saidMadie, “ I want to ask you about some- 
thing ; are you busy ? ” 

“Yes, dear, at present! Can you ask it just as well 
after a while, or will you forget it?” 

“I’ll wait until story -time; I believe I’ll bring in the 
wood and chips, so Ned can go coasting.” 

“You need not mind, Mai, unless it will help you to 
work off steam,” said Ned, as he took the milk-pail and 
started for the barn. 

“I’ve finished my chores,” he declared, a half hour 

“So have I.” laughed Madie, “ and supper is ready , too !” 

A cheerful family gathered around the table. Mr. Bur- 
ton, a grave, quiet man, who loved his books and peaceful 
home-life, saw that his family were provided for, and 
took things as a matter of course. Mrs. Burt^i, a pleas- 


12 


jack’s afire, 


ant, cheery woman, who, when a girl, had had her dreams, 
but gave them up to settle down to the busy, work-a-day 
life of a farmer’s wife, and had now begun to dream again 
for her children. Madeline, the eldest, an impulsive child 
of nine ; Christabel, round-faced and merry, two years 
younger; Bert, rollicking and happy, who said he was “four 
come September;” and baby Benjie, who had shortened 
his elder sister’s name to ‘ Madie,’ and all but her father 
had adopted his plan; Ned, the cousin, w^hose father and 
mother had “fallen asleep” two years before, had ever 
since found a home at his uncle’s, and did not seem like, 
but was like one of the family, completed the group. Mrs. 
Burton’s sister’s child was very dear to her, and she en- 
tered into all the hopes and plans of the blue-eyed, earn- 
est boy of sixteen, as readily as into those of her own lit- 
tle ones. It was beautiful to see the tender chivalry of 
this boy to his adopted mother, shy and awkward in his 
manner, which he hid from others under a guise of brusque- 
ness ; tall and slender, at that period when the man stat- 
ure is too great for the boy ; the man will be here soon, 
and will have a goodly habitation to dwell in, but the boy 
who is soon to vacate, hardly knows what to 9b with the 
hands, and feet, and restless brain that have grown be- 
yond him. 

“ I expect Madie has told you the news. Pretty good, 
wasn’t it?” he asked, as he handed Benjie his cup of 
milk. 

“No, Ned; she said she had something to say to me, 
and I supposed it was some of mother’s help she wanted, 
so we postponed it ; what was it, Madie ? ” 

“It wasn’t the ‘news’ at all, mamma! It was some 
of your help. I forgot about the news.” 

“ Why, the little girl is modest! Well, who do you 
suppose spelled the school down ? ” 

“ Did you, Madeline ?” queried Mr. Burton, taking an 
interest in the conversation for the first time. 

“Yes, papa, and the word was finale.” 

“Quite a word to end on. Have the papers come vet. 
Bell?” 0 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


13 


“ Yes, Mr. Brown brought them this afternoon.” 

The meal was ended, Mr. Burton took his papers and 
was oblivious to everything around him for the remainder of 
the evening. When the work was done, all gathered to- 
gether in the cozy sitting-room. 

“Why, Ned, aren’t you going coasting?” Mrs. Burton 
asked. 

“I guess not to-night. We can all try it to-morrow 
evening.” 

“Now, Madie, what is it?” 

She told of her interview with Mr. Mills. “ Mamma, 
can’t you think of something to give him?” 

“ Give him a pair of socks,” suggested Ned, teasingly. 

“ Ned,” said his aunt reprovingly. “You should re- 
member that Madie is a little girl. I will think about it, 
dear. We will try to plan something.” 

Madie’ s face flushed at Ned’s words. Socks were a 
vexed question with her. She hated to knit ; but her Aunt 
Sarah, who was the “great expectations” of the Burton 
family, insisted that a child should have no childhood, and 
should commence a woman’s work at a very early age. Two 
years before Madie had begun a pair of socks for her 
father. Not being able to finish them at the appointed 
time, she postponed it until his birthday; then warm 
weather coming on, and her father knowing of the gift, 
her zeal slackened somewhat. Ned, mischievously con- 
gratulated her on her economy, as this pair of socks had 
served for two Christmas and two birthday gifts. 

Ned, seeing the tears in her eyes, came close to her and 
said: “ I’m sorry, Mai! Let us get our presents and hang 
up our stockings.” 

The stockings were gotten, and each pinned his pair 
together, from Mr. Burton to Benjie. Then began that 
mysterious wrapping of parcels, and crowding down into 
the stockings, with side glances over the shoulder to “ see 
if any was a peeking,” as Bert said; and with a good- 
night kiss all around, leaving the mother to put in her 
offerings of love. 

“How foolish you are. Bell!” Aunt Sarah would often 


14 


jack’s afire. 


say to her. “ It is so childish. Madeline and Edwin are 
at least old enough to give up such silly notions.” 

“No. Sarah, I like it,” Mrs. Burton would reply in her 
pleasant way. “ It is nice to go back and be a child again 
for one day out of a year. I am sure I enjoy it as much 
as the children.” 

So the loving silliness went on, and Christmas was al- 
ways a glad day in the Burton farm-house. 


oil, THE BURTON TORCH. 


15 


CHAPTEE II. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS ! 

Ever since Ned had come to live with the Burtons, 
there had been a pleasant strife between his cousins and 
himself as to who should be the first to call out greeting 
on Christmas morning. With this thought uppermost in 
Madie's mind, she awakened during the “ wee sma’ hours.” 
She thought of her teacher and the grieved expression on 
the boyish face the night before. “I wish I could give 
him something that he would like and keep for always.” 
Just then a slight noise in the adjoining room caused her 
to lose her train of thought. She listened a moment, then 
bounded to her feet and began to dress noiselessly. A 
whispered word to Christa, a series of suppressed giggles, 
and both were ready. They opened the door cautiously, 
and peered into the hall, to make sure that no one was 
lurking there, then ran lightly across, secreting themselves 
close by Ned’s door, which was almost immediately opened 
by the young gentleman himself. Carefully and quietly 
he was stealing along, when the girls behind him shouted 
their merry greeting. 

This aroused the household. Bert came rolling out, 
calling to Madie to help him “find thumpthing to put on.” 

“ Stand still, Bert, or I never shall dress you. There, 
now, let us hurry. ” 

The room looked mysterious in the gray morning light. 
The chairs with their queer trappings attracted Bert’s at- 
tention. “My, isn’t it awful nice! Wonder what Santa 
Claus has brung us?” he said, hugging himself in an 
ecstasy of delight. 

From mamma’s room came sounds indicating that Ben- 
jie was struggling against parental authority. “ P’ease 
less go to Kissmas, p’ease less do!” 

“Bless his dear, sweet, little heart! He shall come 


16 


jack’s afire, 


to Christmas. His own sister will bring him!” and in 
a moment he was crowing and clapping his hands, as 
he sat in Madie’s arms before the fire. 

“Papa! see your presents first and we’ll go down ’cord- 
ing to age,” said Bert, with a heroic effort at self-denial. 
After a little demurring, Mr. Burton went to his easy 
chair, took the socks there suspended, and began to in- 
spect their contents, although a trifie shamefacedly. 
Little articles that the girls had worked evenings when he 
was busy out of doors, holding themselves ready to run 
and hide them at the first hint of his approach, both vol- 
umes of Dr. Kane’s Arctic Explorations, purchased with the 
combined savings of Mrs. Burton and Ned, as she was not 
the one to go to her husband and ask for a few dollars 
with which to get him a present. 

Mr. Burton had expressed himself as greatly pleased 
with his gifts, when Ned, seeing that Madie was busy with 
baby Benjie, spoke to his uncle. “ Your socks are from 
Madie and she knit them herself.” 

“Did she? they are very nice!” Turning to Madie, 
he continued: “I shall be very proud to wear my little 
girl’s handiwork.” 

“Oh, papa! I have given those socks to you over and 
over again! It has taken me two years to knit this one 
pair. I wish I could give you something else.” 

“But, if papa is satisfied his little daughter ought to be. 
Come, let us see what mamma has hidden in her stock- 
ings.” ^ 

Madie and Ned had saved their little funds, and had a 
daguerreotype of themselves taken and placed in a hand- 
some case. Mamma gazed at the youthful faces, but there 
was such a mist before her eyes, that she was not able to 
tell whether they were true or not. Several other articles 
made up her Christmas. Then came the children, eager 
and glad, as each love token was brought to view. “Each 
has a book, and a toy, and something useful, to make a 
variety,” Ned said. 

They gathered around Benjie’s high-chair, while he 
looked at his treasures, crowing and screaming with de- 


OE, THE BUETON TOECH. 


17 


light at his horse and “wagum,” and doll, and gaily-col- 
ored picture-book. “I just wish I could see Mr. Santa 
Claus. I’d tell him I was much terbliged,” said Bert. 

“ Now, dearies, let us clear the things away and get 
ready for the company,” said Mrs. Burton. 

“Oh, dear,” sighed Madie, “Aunt Sarah will be sure to 
say something awful about our presents.” 

“Never mind, Madie! We’ll be happy as long as we can. 
See if you’ll get your work done as soon as I get mine.” 

At Ned’s suggestion, the little girls went to work with 
a will, and when he returned they ran to meet him with 
the joyful news that they had beaten him. 

“All right; there is another year coming and we’ll see 
whether you get the start of me then or not.” 

“I want to get another peep at my gifts before they all 
get here, they seem newer and nicer every time I look at 
them. My dear little Bible. Mamma, I’m glad we each 
have one.” 

“Come, come, Mai! you’ll be hoarse before our cousins 
arrive; you should be dignified as I am.” 

“I think Christmas breakfast is lots nicer than any 
other; these cakes are nuff sight better than yesterday!” 
gurgled Bert. 

“Do your socks fit you, papa?” asked Madie, as she 
stood by her father in the quiet room. 

“ Yes, dear, and I shall think a great deal of them. Get 
your hood and come to the barn with me.” In the stable 
was “ Old Bet,” shaking her horns and looking very im- 
portant ; by her side a little calf that had come to keep 
the holidays at the old farm. “ Madie, you can have this 
calf, if you like.” 

“ Papa, how glad I am! I will do ever so much knit- 
ting and other work! ” She ran to the house. “ Mamma 
and all of you, listen: Papa has given me the cutest lit- 
tle calf — red, with a white star in her forehead, and she 
shall be called Star! ” 

The sound of bells brought them all to the door. The 
great sleigh filled with relatives from the city drew up 
and emptied. No need to tell how merry greetings were 
2 


18 


jack’s afiee, 


exchanged, nor how a general commotion followed ere the 
wraps were removed and all were quietly settled before the 
cheerful fireside. Such confusion is necessary at all family 
reunions. Uncle Ben and Aunt Prue; he, cheerful and 
kindly ; she, fat and satisfied, bound to have a good time 
everywhere ; Aunt Sarah, prim and dignified ; Bay, Phil, 
and Carrie ; the boys just entering their teens ; their sister, 
a cheerful little miss of eleven. 

“Everything is nice and pleasant,” laughed Aunt Prue, 
“ sleighing just grand. We are going to have a lovely 
day.” 

“ It looks to me very much like a storm. I hope we are 
not going to be snowed in.” 

“ Never mind, Sarah, we can keep you if it does, and 
you can have a good rest,” Ms. Burton said pleasantly. 

“Humph!” said Mrs. Carter. “You know. Bell, I am 
not one to fool around with trifles. I presume you are be- 
hind with your work, for you always make so much fuss 
over Ciiristmas, and such foolishness for the children. I 
have told you a number of times that it is no way to bring 
them up. You all hung up your stockings, and how 
many dolls did you dress? ” 

“ One for each of the children, and every stocking was 
full,” Mrs. Burton answered with a smile. 

“Christabel, will you bring my reticule? There, chil- 
dren, don’t crowd close, and please not to chew candy right 
in my ear. I have brought each of you something. The 
girls and Ned are old enough to read something worth 
while.” She handed Ned Pilgrim’s Progress, a bible to 
each of her nieces, and a Sabbath-School book to the two 
little ones. They stood quietly with their gifts in hand, 
and thanked her as gravely as even she could wish, then 
walked away. Although it must be confessed that those 
two baby boys could hardly appreciate their biographies 
of impossibly good children who died young, and were, to 
say the least, very discouraging to pattern after. Mrs. 
Burton added her thanks, and looked after her little ones 
with fond eyes. They were disappointed, she knew, but, 
y r'liiig as they were, they quietly accepted the situation. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


19 


Mr. Burton came in with Mr. Mills ; introductions fol- 
lowed, and the conversation became general. 

“Mamma,” said Madie, as she was setting the table, 
“have you thought yet what I could give Mr. Mills?” 

“ Couldn’t you give him the Bible you found in your 
stocking. You have two now, thanks to Aunt Sarah.” 

“If you don’t think Santa Claus would mind, I believe 
that would be splendid ! I guess I had better wait until 
just before he goes home; I don’t want to give it before 
them all.” 

“ You may do as you please, Madie. Dinner is ready 
and my little daughter has been a great deal of help to me 
to-day.” 

It was a regular old-fashioned Thanksgiving and Christ- 
mas dinner combined. Mr. Mills thought, as he glanced 
around, that it was good to enjoy this home, and, although 
it was hedged in on both sides by his dreary boarding 
life, yet he “roamed in green pastures” for this one day. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Burton, continuing the topic under dis- 
cussion, “ it does look rather badly down South, but Bu- 
chanan has been a little easy ; when Lincoln takes his seat 
it will all quiet down.” 

“ I wish that I could think so. I am very much afraid 
that those states will all break away from us, and that we 
will soon be in the midst of a civil war,” said his brother 
thoughtfully. 

“ Pshaw, Ben, how you talk ! ” laughed his wife. “ They 
are only a little hot-headed; you’ll find they’ll be glad 
enough to stay and be friends. Of course they’ll not fight, 
that would be too dreadful. Your turkey is splendid. Bell! 
Let us leave off talking about Dixie.” 

“ Prue will never think seriously ! What she doesn’t want 
to happen, she is sure will not. For my part, I believe in 
being prepared for the worst.” 

“ Then, Sarah, it will all be worst. If you both expect 
it, and get it, I’d like to know where the good is to come 
in. How nice your preserves keep. Bell. Half and half 
is the only safe way to put them up,” and Aunt Prue 
smiled as complacently as ever. 


20 


jack’s afiee, 


“I can’t forget old John Brown. Something will yet 
oome of his martyrdom, I firmly believe.” Mr. Mills 
looked at Mrs. Burton as he spoke, as if he were claiming 
sympathy in her motherly heart for the grand, old, mis- 
taken man. 

“Yes, the day he was hung was one of the saddest 
of my life.” 

“No need to have been such a fool, then.” 

“I think, Mrs. Carter, that through such ‘fools’ as he, 
the greatest reforms have rolled over the earth.” Mr. 
Mills spoke slowly, with fiushed cheeks, for he was young 
enough to be startled by his own ideas, when expressed 
before elders. 



Madie spelled the school 


and the 


word was finale. I think we had better wait and see 
what that word will mean to us as applied to this cause. 
Perhaps ere another year has gone, we will know,” said 
Mrs. Burton, as they arose from the table. 

“Ned,” said the teacher, “I promised the children to 
look at Madie’s property, shall we go now?” 

“Certainly, and my cousins w^ould like to go, also.” So 
the young people proceeded to the farm. 

“She is very pretty. Are you the only property owner, 
Madie?” but the little girl had already returned to the 
h(juse. 

“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Burton, who had just entered. 
“ The children claim everything here; lambs, pigs, calves 
and colts. I keep the farm, but the rest is all prom- 


ised.” 


“I am afraid you are. ^oing to see grieved faces some- 
time, because of this giving,” thought the young man. 

“I hope it won’t storm,” said Ned, looking up at the 
quiet gray sky. “ I want to go coasting, and have the girls 
go with me, no matter if it does shock Aunt Sarah.” 

“She is a wudow, is she not?” 

“Yes, she did not marry until about five years ago. 
Her husband has been dead two years, — a goodish sort of a 
man; she ordered him around just as she pleased. I feel 
as if I’d like to congratidate him on getting away from 


OE, THE BUETON TOECH. 


21 


her.” Mr. Mills smiled slightly, and seeing Madie com- 
ing toward him, stopped and waited for her. 

“ I had to help with the dishes. I wanted to speak to 
you; I wanted to make you a present. You see, I didn’t 
think about it quick enough to get anything else ; but I do 
hope you’ll like it!” and the child, completely overcome, 
thrust the little book, so filled with mystic words of love, 
and life, and comfort, into his hands, and ran away. The 
day was dark; but something deeper and damper than 
shadows crept into the young man’s eyes, and prevented 
him from seeing the little volume. 

He turned the leaves slowly and tenderly, then went 
straight to the house, where Madie had beaten such a 
hasty retreat. “ Little sister,” laying his hand caressingly 
on the brown curls, “you have made me very glad and 
thankful. I have something to keep always, but you 
have no idea how selfish I am growing under this new 
kindness. I want one thing more, and I trust your mamma 
will not refuse me that, a picture like the one you gave 
her.” 

“Why, of course, won’t you, mamma? We have one we 
were going to send to my cousins in New York; Aunt 
Sarah is going there in the spring, but they will not mind, 
or we can get another.” 

“ I think you can let your teacher have the extra,” said 
Mrs. Burton, smiling at her eagerness. 

“Thank you! I have had a grand day of ‘peace and 
good will.’” 

In a short time the visitors departed, and the children 
went for an hour’s sport with their sleds, returning flushed 
and happy, having had, to quote from Christabel, “Just 
the splendidest time ! ” 

“ We can’t have any story -time to-night,” said Madie 
with a tired but happy little sigh. “I’ve had such a 
lovely day that I can almost think one myself. Mr. 
Mills said that if you watch the year out, and just 
at midnight, open your Bible, the verse you find there 
will be your text for the year. Isn’t that nice? I 
am going to try it. May be it will be something I 


22 jack’s afike, 

can’t understand, but he said he would explain it if he 
could.” 

“ Let us all try it, Aunt Bell,” coaxed Ned; “ if Mills 
will come, he is a first-rate fellow, and did not seem a bit 
stilted to-day.” Aunt Bell only smiled, but they under- 
stood that they were to have a watch-meeting. 

“ I wish we could have Christmas for a week! ” moaned 
Bert, as he trudged up-stairs to bed. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


23 


CHAPTEE III. 

TEXTS AND MEANINGS. 

The last day of tjie year came. Christa was full of im- 
portance, as she was to give the invitation to Mr. Mills, 
and delegated herself as guide. 

The story that night Mrs. Burton intended to omit, 
but Mr. Mills seconded the invitation of the children 
warmly, adding, in an undertone, “Tell something to 
help me; I am selfish, to-night. This is my first 
watch-meeting since mother died, and left me, a boy 
of ten years, alone in the world.” 

Mr. Burton was engrossed with his paper, but the 
others were eager listeners. She told the story of a 
struggling orphan boy, of the careless sympathy of 
strangers, of his fight with poverty, and effort to finish 
college ; told it in her tender, motherly way, and added : 
“But he conquered, for every day there was sunshine, 
though sometimes he failed to see it. Success crowned 
his efforts, loved ones surrounded him. In after years he 
came to know what home really meant, a man’s work 
awaited him ; brave, tender and an earnest Christian, what 
more could he wish?” 

“ Nothing,” answered the young man, and she was re- 
paid. 

^ The little ones were put to bed, and Mrs. Burton and 
the older ones talked and sang until the hour drew near 
midnight. “Now the Bible,” said Ned. 

“All of you use mine. I should like to remember to- 
night in this way.” The teacher drew Madie’s gift from 
his pocket as he spoke. “Mrs. Burton, you first— but 
hark!” The clock was striking twelve, and with bowed 
heads they waited until the New Year was fairly upon 
them. 

Silently and reverently she took the book, and opening, 


24 


jack’s afike, 


read: “ ‘Whosoever will receive one of such children in 
my name receiveth me, and whosoever shall receive me, 
receiveth not me, but Him that sent me.’” 

“ A tribute to your grand, motherly nature,” said Mr. 
Mills softly. “Ned!” 

The boy’s face? was graver than usual. “The man is 
coming,” thought Aunt Bell, as she looked at him. 

“ ‘Thine hand shall find out all thine enemies. Thy 
right hand shall find out all those that hate thee.’ That 
means war! ” said Ned. 

“It means bravery and trust, I hope,” said the teacher. 
But Aunt Bell was silent ; the man was nearer than she 
knew. Mr. Mills read slowly : “ ‘A gift is as a precious stone 
in the eyes of him that hath it ; whithersoever it turneth, it 
prospereth.’ My dear little friend, I receive a beautiful 
promise with your gift. Will you read now ? ” The grave 
faces around her awed the child ; she shook her head 
solemnly. “Let me try,” and he read: “‘So the last 
shall be the first, and the first last ; for many be called but 
few chosen.’ ” 

“I am afraid I don’t understand. Does it mean that I 
shall amount to something by and by ? ” 

“ I think you have expressed it, Madie, and I hope you 
may have many long, happy years to study it out in. It 
is ’61 now, and I wish all a glad Happy New Year,” said 
Mrs. Burton. 

“What were you doing. Bell?” her husband enquired, 
when she joined him a few moments later. 

“ Finding texts for the new year,” and she repeated 
them. “My text seems peculiarly applicable to Mr. Mills, 
perhaps it is for me to help him.” 

“ I wonder if he would not like to stay and help on the 
farm. He could study from the time school closes until 
spring’s work begins.” 

“ Frank, as Christa says, that would be ‘just the splendid- 
est thing.’ I wish you a Happy New Year.” 

“It will be that, with you and the children near. Bell;” 
and Bell, being a loving woman, was satisfied. 

The remaining days of that winter term were filled with 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


25 


study and preparation. “ The children are anxious for an 
exhibition. If they will do just as well with their studies, 
I do not object,” Mr. Mills remarked, to one of the “ dis- 
trict fathers.” 

On that night each had some part to perform. Ned 
delivered an oration that would have done honor to one of 
more mature years. ' Madie listening admiringly, whis- 
pered to Aggie that “there was not another boy in school 
who could do as well.” 

The remark was an unfortunate one, as Aggie’s brother 
Eobert was without a peer, in the opinion of his little 
sister. “ I know ever so many who can do a great deal 
better than that!” Aggie flounced away, and laughed 
and talked to Ella Brown, and told her all the little confi- 
dences Madie had given her. 

“ Never mind, Mai,” said her cousin Phil, who was out 
from the city, “be careful after this how you distribute 
secrets, a good many people have no place to put them.” 

Madie recited a poem, from the Little Pilgrim. Mr. 
Phelps, the rich man of the place, cheered heartily, and 
turning to Mr. Burton, said: “You must educate that 
girl.” 

“I shall try,” he replied. 

Mr. Mills, we shall call him Ealph now, gladly accepted 
the proffered situation, and became an inmate of the Burton 
household. The evenings passed in study, and the “story 
hour” was kept as usual. The kind lady of the house 
taking advantage of that hour to give the youths many a 
loving hint. 

“She teaches so much, and doesn’t seem to preach at 
all,” Ealph confessed to Ned, after an unusually entertain- 
ing evening. 

“Yes, Ealph, all my life I shall remember and profit 
by Aunt Bell’s sweet story times.” 

Lincoln entered the White House. The Southern hori- 
zon was darkening. Spring came and “worked her quiet 
will” on hill and dale. 

Uncle Ben drove down from the city with the news. 
“They have fired Sumpter and there is a call for troops.” 


26 jack’s afiee, 

“I didn’t think that they would do it,” said Mr. 
Burton. 

During those first days, the boys drew nearer together 
as if filled with some vague plan. Then Ralph seemed to 
avoid Ned; Mrs. Burton watched both, when unobserved, 
with a sad wistful look. Even Aunt Prue grew sober, but 
when she saw the solemn faces of the others, would say 
cheeringly: “Why, the call was only for three months. 
The boys will all be home again, soon.” 

News of preparation came to them, followed by the call: 
“three years or during the war,” from the man who com- 
bined all the nobler qualities of ruler and subject, too. 

“ Aunt Bell, may I call you that just this once?” 

“You may always call me that, Ralph.” 

“I want to talk with you. I must answer that call for 
help, and furnish one volunteer.” 

“ Can you give up your college plans, Ralph? ” 

“What are my plans compared with those of a nation!” 
he exclaimed. 

“I knew it was coming, yet it comes with a shock, after 
all.” 

“ I must leave to-night. Ned must not know until I am 
gone. He would want to go too.” 

“He is too young, and I cannot spare both my boys, 
Ralph; it is so hard to let you go!” 

There was no story that night. The children were 
silent on hearing the dreadful war news. 

When the little ones had gone to bed, Ralph bade his 
friends good-by, and started for the city. He had reached 
the school house, and paused to give one last look at the 
place, grown so dear to him. “I shall remember it al- 
ways,” he murmured. 

“ So shall 1, ” a voice repeated near him. 

“Why, Ned. What are you here for?” 

“ I might play Yankee and answer your question by 
asking another ; but I can tell you better than that, I am 
going with you.” 

“Ned, you are too young. Your relatives will miss you 
so! I beg of you to go back.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


27 


“I tell you, I will not; you are only two years older 
than L” 

“ Then go back and tell them. Do not steal away in 
the night. Why did you do this?” 

“Because I thought to getaway and leave you here.” 

“ My plan, exactly, in regard to you.” They both 
laughed, but there was little merriment in their laughter. 

“ Let us both go back and start to-morrow with their 
blessing. There will be a recruiting officer at this school- 
house to-morrow night,” said Kalph. 

Mr. Burton was greatly astonished, when the two boys 
entered the house together. The surprise increased, when 
he learned why Ralph had returned. With the quick in- 
tuition of her sex, his wife understood it all. 

“ The man is here! God help us all! ” she said with a 
sob. 

“Don’t, Aunt Bell! I knew the sight of you would break 
me all up.” 

She had dropped upon her knees ere he finished, and 
the two knelt beside her. He, who knoweth all, heard 
the silent prayer from those loyal hearts. 

The next day passed swiftly away, and evening came, 
“Give us a swing, won’t you, please?” called the little 
girls. Under the oak trees they stand together, just at 
sunset, Madie and Christa, swinging back and forth, en- 
joying the swaying motion, and the balmy air. 

The woman in the door way watched them with sad 
eyes. Madie called to them to “let the old cat die,” and 
ran to her mother. “What is it, mamma?” But the only 
reply was a shake of the head. “ I know, those boys are 
going to enlist ! ” and, turning, suddenly she rushed down 
the green lawn, under the whispering branches, and threw 
herself into Ned’s arms. 

“Oh, boys, don’t go! Whatever shall we do! I just 
love you both! You aren’t old enough! ” 

They were only boys after all; and Madie was not weep- 
ing alone. 

“Little girlie,” said Ralph, when he could speak, “Will 
you be my brave little sister, and wish us God speed? ” 


28 


JACK^S AFIEE, 

“ You must be brave for mamma’s sake,” said Ned, 
with a sob, as he laid his brown cheek on the little hands 
holding his so tightly. The child stifled her sobs for the 
sake of the others. In after years, when they had learned 
of her brave, unselfish spirit, they tenderly remembered 
this first brave effort. 

The sun shone as brightly the next morning as if 
there were never a clouded home in all the land. Duties 
must be attended to, though hearts should break ! 

In a few days they visited the camp ; the young soldiers 
were resplendent in new uniform. 

They stayed to see the dress parade. Bert clung to his 
father’s hand and kept time to the music. Madie and 
Christa glanced down the line, but looked longest at the 
faces they knew so well. While the - soldiers carried the 
memory of those childish faces through all those weary 
marches. 

The proud young officers and private soldiers, standing 
on that slope of land, with the purple gleam of sunset 
lighting their earnest faces, and the lake and city in the 
near distance, will ever live in our recollections of child- 
hood, the war, and old Camp Bandall. 

“We shall be under marching orders very soon; see my 
talisman of victory!” Ealph exhibited the little Bible 
and her miniature to Madie as he spoke. 

“Well I declare! Christa’s round, Dutch face is drawn 
into quite a respectable length,” said Ned, with an at- 
tempt at cheerfulness. But when they left them at the 
gate the smile was gone. 

Only a little time and they were ordered South. Then 
began soldier life in earnest. The children haunted the 
postoffice, and every bit of news that could be gleaned 
from the Army of the Potomac was eagerly sought. The 
letters were read and re-read. The children never failing 
to send their weekly budget. Our soldiers were glad to 
hear of every animal on the farm at the North. Philip’s 
and Mills’ letters were listened to by half the company. 
If there were a soldier homesick and lonely, in some won- 
derful way Mrs. Burton learned his name, and a letter 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


29 


from the breezy old farm-house soon found its way to the 
seat of war. 

“ Just killing yourself writing to everyone! What good 
does it do?” fretted Aunt Sarah. 

“It seems to me it would do a great deal of good, if I 
were worn and weary in a strange land, to get a letter from 
some one who loved me because I was fighting for her.” 
Mrs. Carter vented her spite on her knitting, and said no 
more. 

Phil, bemoaning the cruel fate that only permitted 
strong men to enter the army, spent his vacations on the 
farm. 

Mrs. Burton refolded the letter she had been reading, 
which contained a description of a ‘sharp skirmish.’ 
“They will never be boys again, after all these months of 
danger. They are men in experience if not in years.” 

Benjie came close and put his chubby arms around her 
neck. “ Dear mamma, don’t goto mournfulling so! I 
love you ! I idolize you ! I worship you ! I adore you ! and 
that’s all there is to me.” 

“Mamma ought to be brave when she has such a sweet 
comforter. See! the children are coming from school. 
Would you like to run and meet them? Tell them to 
hurry, for I have an errand for them to do.” 

Off he ran as fast as his little, fat legs could carry him. 
“Childin’ you must hurry, quicker’n noffin! mamma has 
a nerrand she wants you to get.” 

“ You little sweet! ” cried Madie. “ Christa, let us make 
a chair.” The little girls clasp hands and he rides proudly 
to the house. 

“What is it, mamma?” 

“ I want my little girls to go over to Mrs. Lee’s, and 
see if she can help me for a few days. I am not at all 
well, and I think she needs the work.” 

“I believe she does, mamma; Sada has only one dress to 
wear to school, and it is mended in lots of places. She 
says they haven’t heard from her papa since the battle of 
Chancellorsville. ” 

“ His name does not appear in the paper, so there 


30 jack’s afire, 

room for hope,” said Mrs. Burton, as the children started 
off. 

The little cabin was very quiet as the children ap- 
proached. Impressed by the stillness, they went in slowly. 
Mrs. Lee sat in a low chair, with her baby in her arms. 
She turned her pale face to the children when they 
reached the door, and the expression there Madie never 
forgot. “Are you sick, Mrs. Lee? Let me take the 
baby.” 

The woman laid her head on the table and sobbed aloud. 
“I have a letter from Charlie’s mess-mate and Charlie 
was shot on the battle-field.” Sada, who had just reached 
home in time to hear her mother’s words, turned with a 
loud cry, and left the house. Amy and the baby were 
too young to realize their loss, but seeing that something 
was wrong, joined in with their shrill screams. 

Madie’s tears fell fast. “I don’t know what to say, 
only I am so sorry. Can’t you come home with us? I am 
sure mamma would be glad to have you.” 

“No, dear, I must stay here to-night, any way. I can’t 
leave the place yet. We were happy here before this 
dreadful war. Oh, why did I let him go?” her grief over- 
powering her again. 

Madie bade them good night, and with her sister, started 
homeward. When they told their parents the sad news, 
Mrs. Burton turned to her husband. “Frank, couldn’t 
we bring them home with us for a time ? ” 

“As you please. Bell, but have a care for yourself.” 

‘‘Are they all going to come and live with us?” asked 
Christa. “ I’ll have to write to the boys to-night.” 

“No, my little ones must go to bed, the sun left us 
quite a while ago.” 

“ The night has crowded out the day,” said Madie, with 
one of her swift, earnest glances. 

The next morning, these good Samaritans visited the 
Lees and brought the sorrowing mother and her little 
ones home with them. “ I do not know how to repay you. 
I will help you all I can, and perhaps after a time I can 
get a situation somewhere.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


31 


“ Please, Mrs. Lee, not to speak of paying me ; you would, 
have done the same for me, had our positions been changed. 
I could not think of leaving you there alone,” said Mrs. 
Burton. 

“I have nothing but my two hands to support my 
children.” 

“Have faith, some way will be provided. Your children 
will be a comfort to you, and your husband was a man 
whose memory you may be proud of.” Mrs. Burton took 
the baby in her arms. He looked up at her with eyes 
whose chief expression was, “I wonder!” Satisfied with 
the face above him, he cooed contentedly ; soon the blue 
eyes grew drowsy, and Harry was wandering through the 
valley of dreamland. 

Mr. Burton came home with news that they were crowd- 
ing up to the “line,” and there was danger of a hard 
fight. Madie went after the cows that night, and going 
up to Star put her arms around the cow’s neck and said, 
“Star, I am afraid there is going to be a battle. I don’t 
dare cry before mamma and the others at the house. But, 
oh, my pet, what shall we do, if anything should happen 
to our boys?” Star rolled her great, calm eyes around and 
looked her sympathy. How many of us have found the 
love and protection of a dumb brute a comfort in time of 
trouble and danger! 

“The aid society will meet with me this afternoon. We 
have our box almost ready to send. Would you like to be 
present, or would you rather stay away?” 

Mrs. Lee looked from the window southward, then an- 
swered her hostess, “He gave up home and life, why should 
I not help? It will only be a widow’s mite after all.” 

Those were strange sewing societies which met then, 
very little of neighborhood gossip, but very much conver- 
sation on that land that had so long been called the “ Sunny 
South.” Kindly glances and words of sympathy were 
given, the pale, little woman who had lost her husband. 
A quiet person, unknown to many outside her own fam- 
ily, where she had wielded a powerful influence over the 
gallant soldier now sleeping so far away. The bond of 


32 


jack’s afiee, 


sympathy drew those women together. Each had some 
near one fighting to save the nation, and many a heart had 
already been wrung. 

“The Governor’s wife will speak to us in a few days; 
she has been South, and can tell us better what to do,” 
the president of the society said. The box was packed 
and the unfinished work gathered together, when they 
were startled by that dull, booming sound that all had 
come to know so well. 

“It must be another battle!” 

“I am afraid it is near the Potomac.” 

“I believe I shall stifle.” 

“ Come out into the air!” With frightened, anxious 
faces they went out doors. Mr. Brown drove up frgm 
the postoffice. “What is it?” 

He briefly answered, “Battle of Gettysburg, three days’ 
fight, Lee is driven back.” No other word was said. 
The Army of the Potomac held the company that was en- 
listed from this place, and to this group listening to the 
dreadful news, that company was the Army of the Poto- 
mac. 

Glancing down the long list of names, wounded : Balph 
Mills, William Brown, Edwin Philips, with a quick sharp 
moan Madie read the names, as she was returning from 
the postoffice. She went home and straight to her mother, 
“Mamma, something has happened. They are not dead, 
only wounded,” she said, trying bravely to break the news 
gently. Mrs. Burton remembered sadly, Madie’ s words 
of a few days before, “ The night had crowded out the 
day,” for so many. 

“Don’t, Aunt Bell! I can’t bear to see you look so 
troubled. You will hear from them in a short time, I am 
sure,” said Phil, trying to console her. 

“I am weak to-night, you must bear with me, to-morrow 
I Avill be brave. Mrs. Lee, it is a comfort to have you 
here.” 

“Thank you! I am glad to be of service.” 

They wrote for definite news, and then — waited. 


OE, THE BUKTON TOECH. 


33 


CHAPTEE IV. 

STAE. 

The Governor’s wife addressed the people, urging the 
need of aid in camp and hospital. Madie was stirred by 
the brave, tender words of the loyal woman. “ I wish I 
could do something to help them myself!” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Burton: I’ll give you fifty 
dollars for that young cow of yours,” she overheard Mr. 
Brown saying to her father, as they were going home. 

“I believe I might as well do it. My elder daughter 
thinks a great deal of her, but I want to help the cause 
along with money, if I can not with my own right hand.” 

The “elder daughter” heard every word. Her heart 
gave a great bound. “Going to sell Star! He shall not, 
he gave her to me.” She rushed homeward. “Mamma,” 
she cried, “papa is going to sell Star to Mr. Brown. He 
can’t, can he? Isn’t she my very own?” 

“I don’t know, dear! Papa will be home in a moment, 
and then we will see.” Mr. Burton entered the room. 

“Why Madeline, what is the matter?” But the child 
was sobbing beyond all power of self-control. 

Mrs. Burton explained to him ; lowering her voice, she 
said, “ I was afraid, Frank, that your lavish bestowal of 
gifts would cause a commotion in our family some time.” 

With a feeling of almost guilt, he went over to Madie. 
“ My dear, I never dreamed that you thought Star be- 
longed to you, only so long as I chose to keep her. I 
gave you children, colts, and calves, and lambs, because 
you seemed pleased with them. I have bounty taxes and 
other expenses to meet, and I must part with some of the 
stock. I will give you another calf.” 

“It won’t be Star and I don’t want it. I thought Star 
was my own, and I have told her everything ! Ealph and 
Ned are gone, and now she is going.” 

3 


34 


jack’s afike, 


“You can have Coley’s colt.” 

Mrs. Burton held up her hand warningly. 

“No,” said Madie. “I don’t want to have anything for 
a little while, and then have it taken away from me.” 

“Very well,” said her father coldly. For, man -like, he 
could not see why she should make such an ado over it. 
“We will keep the cow. I can possibly spare ten dollars, 
and that will have to do.” 

“Papa, I’ll go without anything new — toys, and clothes, 
and all — for a year. And I will not think of Christmas 
at all, if you will let me keep my dear Star.” 

“You may keep her. Good night.” 

She lay for a long time looking at the stars, and think- 
ing of her dumb friend. ‘ ‘ I wan ted to help the poor soldiers, 
and now, when I have a chance, I don’t do it.” There 
was a battle fought a long way north of “Mason’s and 
Dixon’s line” that night, but it was fought for principle, 
and loyalty and love conquered. 

Mr. Brown came the next morning. He was met by 
Mr. Burton, with the information that he had changed his 
mind. “I will not sell my cow. Please hand this bill to 
your wife. I wish it were more, but times are hard, and 
I have to meet the wants of my family.” The neighbor 
was turning away, when a little figure came flying down 
the walk. 

“Mr. Brown, please wait a minute! Papa will not sell 
Star, because I claim her. I thought I couldn’t let her 
go ; but if you will be good to her and not sell her until 
I can earn money to buy her back, you can have her.” 
The old man looked at her kindly, but hesitated to speak. 

“ Go to school, Madeline, I will not take your pet away 
from you.” 

“No, papa, I want you to sell her. Ealph and Ned may 
be wanting something now, and there are other little girls 
whose people are down there. I will give Star to them 
all.” 

The cow had a mind of her own and would not be caught. 

“Just stand still and call her by name and she’ll come. 
Now, will you please go away and let me say good by to 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


35 


her?” They left them on the sunny slope of pasture 
land. The cow tossed her horns as if she were to suffer 
a great indignity. “Good by, darling; I wouldn’t let you 
go, if it were not for all the boys down South. It is all 
we can do to help them. You are going away and I’ll 
never see you again,- because I will not want to see you, 
when you do not belong to me. I’ll get big and teach 
school and buy you back some time; so please don’t get 
homesick and die.’^ Star rubbed her nose against Ma- 
die’s hand and looked at her as if she knew that this were 
a parting. Then they came and drove her off. 

Phil and Christa went alone for the cows that ijight. 
When the house was still, the sound of a familiar moo 
came to the girls’ room. “What is that?” enquired 
Sada, raising herself upon her elbow. 

They heard it again. “That is Star!” cried Madie, 
and ran down stairs. “Papa, get up, quick, my cow has 
come back!” 

“I think not.” But in the barnyard they found the 
creature. 

“ I wish I could sleep out here with her.” 

“ Why, Madeline, the idea. Come into the house!” 
and Madie went. 

“She will change her mind in the morning,” Mr. Bur- 
ton said, after he had told his wife about it. 

“ We shall see,” was her reply. 

Madie did not venture near the yard the next morning. 
When the children started for school, the older people 
who were furtively watching, saw^ her turn away from the 
barn and take the opposite side of the road. 

During the forenoon, Star’s new owner came for her, 
his hired man was with him. The cow had no idea of 
leaving the old farm, and darted here and there around 
the pasture. Madie saw it all from the school-room win- 
dow; she went to the teacher’s desk. 

“ May I go home ? ” 

“Are you sick? ” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Do your people want you? ” 


36 


jack’s afiee, 


“No, ma’am.” 

“I cannot dismiss you then.” 

“But, you see they are trying to catch my cow, and I 
shall have to go.” 

“ Take your seat.” 

She obeyed, but one glance from the window revealed 
the still fruitless chase. With an agonized look at her 
teacher, she said, “ I must go, please!*'* and left the 
room. 

She reached the field as the man was about to throw a 
stone. “Don’t you dare!” she cried, as she caught his 
arm. Her father looked at her in astonishment; he had 
never seen her so aroused. “ Give me the rope. Come, 
Star 1 ” in her clear voice, and with a bawl of delight, the 
cow came to her little mistress. “ Oh, my darling!” but 
she bravely slipped the rope over her horns. Mr. Brown 
came up to her. 

“ Madie, it is too bad. I had better leave her here 
with you.” 

“No, sir. I want you to take her; but don’t let her 
come back again.” 

Madie never owned another cow. She never forgot 
her pet, nor the grief of a child who learned that gifts 
meant nothing. When she had children of her own, they 
were not misled by rash promises. Mr. Burton, too, 
learned a lesson ; he was more judicious with his pres- 
ents, but they were presents and not idle words. 

‘ Send the fifty dollars in Madie’s name; it is hers,” he 
said. So this child laid the five bank notes on the altar 
of her country. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


37 


CHAPTEE V. 


ACROSS THE LINE. 


The long brigades were moving across the line into 
Pennsylvania. Winding along that upland country, the 
brave Army of the Potomac went. They had met many 
discouraging events, but they were accustomed to “ moving 
firmly onward in the path of duty, even when that path 
was not irradiated by the sunshine of hope.” The eye 
of a nation was watching their movements during those 
June days. 

“It seems nice to be in a real free state once more; I 
honestly believe I can breathe better here,” said Will 
Brown to Ned Philips. 

Ned tossed back the curls from his forehead and drew 
a deep breath as if he, too, enjoyed the free air. 

“ We shall meet them soon,” said one and another, al- 
most joyously, “and we will be victorious.” 

“ Ned, I want to talk with you for a little while. We shall 
go into battle very soon ; perhaps I may be shot ; if I am, 
will you take the little I have and send it to Madie ? She 
is only a child, but she has been more to me than all the 
others. Your Aunt Bell has been motherly and kind, and 
you have been a brother and comrade, but Madie’ s words, 
while there, and her sweet, childish letters to me here, 
have made me brave and hopeful. Tell her, if it should 
happen, that I carried her little Bible to the last. 

Ned pressed Ealph’s hand in token of silent assent. 
“ My property belongs to Aunt Bell. I can’t say it, but 
you know and will tell it all, if I should be the one to 


go 


“Yes, Ned,” and again they shook hands to seal the 


compact. 

They were fighting at Gettysburg. Through, over and 
around that Pennsylvania village rolled the grim tide of 


38 


jack’s afiee, 


battle. Poets and historians have described it to us, and 
in scenic panorama much of its horror stands before us 
to-day. 

The first day of the battle, the Iron Brigade was in the 
thickest of the fight. One of the Badger State Beg- 
iments missed the brave young Colonel, whose hand had 
not only been pledged, but on this day was given for 
Freedom. Many of them well remembered his earnest 
words of two years before. “ Boys, come on! our country 
needs us! I am going!” And they thanked God that 
the loyal heart still beat on, and the life was spared. 

Driven back to the old cemetery, they held their posi- 
tion, looking out through the fire and smoke, while the 
hours of agony throbbed on. 

Ealph and Ned were fighting side by side. Just before 
the glad shout of victory came, Ealph fell suddenly. Ned 
bent over him. “What is it, old fellow?” But there was 
no time to indulge in a personal grief. Another ball 
sung its death song through the air, and the two friends 
were lying near each other on the bullet-furrowed ground. 

Not until the next day — the anniversary of our Nation’s 
Independence — were the wounded all cared for. 

“Here! I want some help,” the surgeon said to his 
assistant. 

“It isn’t so bad a case as I thought,” he added. “I 
was afraid the ball had lodged in his side ; but it is only 
a fiesh wound. Strange, that it was turned aside in that 
way! ” 

“Look here, sir; ” as he spoke, the assistant held up a 
small pocket Bible, with a bullet hole through it, and a 
miniature with a dented case. The little girl looked 
smilingly out at them. 

“Well, well, love or religion kept that ball from his 
heart ! Put it back,” and the busy surgeon hurried on to 
the next sufferer. 

Ned and Will Brown were only slightly injured, and 
were cheered by the knowledge that the Army of the 
Potomac had at last w^on a grand victory. 

Letters were sent North, and army life began again, for 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


39 


all except tlie seriously wounded and those who had “gone 
over to the silent majority.” Halph recovered slowly ; then 
came glad news of a furlough. 

Madie had been for the mail that golden August day; 
coming slowly into the kitchen, she called out, “ It is just 
eight hundred and fifty steps from here to the corner of 

the south lot! I” she stopped suddenly, for there 

was a queer, glad smile on her mother's face. 

Bert came bounding toward her from the parlor. “ I 
never’ 11 tell in my life. Somebody’s here, though, and he 
is going to stay fifteen days.” 

“And he ain’t teached for along time. He corned from 
the horspittul and I sha’n’t tell, neither,” cried Benjie, 
eager to have his say. 

“Guess, Madie!” laughed Christa. But they had no 
audience. Madie was in the parlor, crying and laughing 
a welcomo to the pale, young soldier. 

“ She never guessed at all; she just up and peaked the 
first thing,” said Bert, in an injured tone. 

How rapidly the two weeks passed away. “ Fifteen 
days is a good deal shorter than I thought it was,” said 
Benjie, twisting around on the arm of Kalph’s chair. 

“You could almost see the time go,” Bert said mourn- 
fully. 

“Eight, boys; but it has been long enough to almost 
spoil me. All my favorite dishes cooked, all of you to 
wait upon and entertain me. I have been the sovereign 
before which you have all bowed. I shall have much to 
tell when I get back to camp.” 

Turning to Madie, he continued, “I shall tell of Star 
and your sacrifice, and I shall carry the riddled volume 
with me always. ‘ Whither soever it turneth, it prosper- 
eth.’” The tears sprang to the little girl’s eyes, but she 
could not answer. 

“ What is it, Mrs. Lee? ” 

The two mothers had been in consultation, and the widow 
came alone to Ealph as she answered, “I am going 


40 


jack’s afiek, 


South with you to-morrow. My work is in the hospital.” 
Noting the firm mouth and earnest eye, no one opposed. 
“It is very hard to leave the children, but it seems as if it 
would bring Charlie nearer to me. The work lay so near 
to his heart, I would like to do what I could.” As she 
looked at her little ones, the mother heart conquered all 
other feeling for a time. 

Mrs. Burton divined her sorrow, and laid her hand 
gently on her arm. “ My dear friend, I will do all in my 
power for your children. If you can bravely go into the 
midst of all that suffering, I can surely find it in my 
province to take care of these little ones.” 

“ I know, and I think, Mrs. Burton, that this was given 
you and I to do. If I were to stay, there would be still 
another here. You can care for my girls and boy better 
than I can. May God keep us all safe!” 

Many a soldier in that Southern hospital blessed the 
tender, patient little woman, who was trying to carry on, 
in her weak way, the work her husband so bravely began. 

But one day, after nearly two years of patient working 
and waiting, and just before the “glad tidings of great 
joy” told that peace was declared, a letter came from 
Ned to his aunt, telling her that the children were or- 
phans. Mrs. Lee had died of fever. 

Sada, Amy, and little Harry stayed on at the old farm- 
house, tenderly, tearfully remembering the brave father 
and mother, reunited once more. 


OE, THE BUETON TOECH. 


41 


CHAPTEE VI. 

PLANS AND PAETINGS 

It is summer again. The army is disbanded. Young 
and old go out to meet them. Our heroes are again at 
home. 

“They are as handsome as they can be,” said Bert, and 
Benjie, with mouth too full for utterance, nods his head. 

“We’ve got an awful family, but I guess we can man- 
age,” was Christa’s comforting conclusion. 

“ What is this ? ” cried Benjie, drawing a case from 
Ned’s pocket. 

“Oh, that is nothing at all,” Ned answered, return- 
ing it to hil pocket, a bit of color showing even through 
the tan on his cheek as he caught Sada’s quiet glance. 

“Ned thinks a great deal of that picture,” said Ealph. 

“ Madie’s got a gerentype, too,” said Harry Lee. 

“Where is it?” both soldiers enquired. 

“On the mantel.” 

Madie handed it to them. They started. One of these 
was not a blue-coat, surely. “Where did you get it?” 
but she had left the room. 

Mrs. Burton answered for her. “We visited the camp 
last fall, and saw the rebel prisoners who had been brought 
North. Madie went back of her own accord to wish them 
a Merry Christmas. One of them took her by the hand 
and asked her why she said that; she answered: ‘because 
every one ought to be kind and have as nice a time as he 
can on that day, and give gifts to each other, for 
Christ was given to the world on Christmas, I think. 
Mamma told me that was the reason.’ The man smiled 
and told her he would like to give her something. He 
looked very ill. Madie took some jelly and a few other 
delicacies to them. This man did not live long after 
that. He left a letter and this locket for her. The let- 


42 


jack’s afire, 


ter stated that he was an orphan. He went from a loyal 
state, but his wife sympathized with the South. She died 
soon after he was sent North. His only brother was 
chaplain of a New York regiment. Madie was not bold, 
she was simply self-forgetful. His brother has a mate to 
this locket, 'he said.” 

“Things happen strangely in this world,” said Ealph, 
but how strange this was all to be, none of them could 
know. 

“ How beautiful everything is, and how nice it is to be 
with you all,” said Ned, the next morning. 

“ I am so happy to have you home again, that I feel as 
Madie expressed herself last night.” 

“How was that, Auntie ? ” 

“She came to me after you had retired, and said 
‘ Mamma, I’m so happy that it hurts me.’ ” 

“ She is a sweet little girl,” said Ned warmly. 

“You have grown ever so much,” said Christa. “ See, 
there are your marks by the woodshed door. Don’t you 
remember, we all measured before you went away?” 

“ The notches are beneath our notice now,” said Ealph 
merrily. 

“ Breakfast is ready,” called Benjie. He had asked so 
many questions about the returned soldiers. “ When are 
they going back? Be they going to stay with us all sum- 
mer ? and what relation is both of ’em to the whole of us?” 
that Mrs. Burton and Sada were glad to send him on this 
errand in order to give themselves a brief rest. 

“ This is most as nice as Christmas,” said Bert, beam- 
ing on the large family with the utmost satisfaction. 

“ That is the acme of Bert’s idea of happiness.” 

“I believe it is of mine. Aunt Bell. Ealph and I have 
kept four anniversaries alone.” 

“ But we found the ‘finale,’ Mr. Burton,” said Ealph. 

“I little thought that it would be such a bloody lesson,” 
was the grave reply. 

“ Let us not talk of that,” said Ned, seeing the sudden 
pallor on Sada’s face. “Phil, what has become of Aunt 
Sarah ? ” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


43 


“ She has been away nearly as long as you have, at 
Uncle Joe’s in New York. She is coming back next week, 
and we expect a regular joZZ?/ time.” 

“ Phil, you must remember that she is your father’s 
sister,” said his aunt reprovingly. 

“ Boys — somehow you are still boys to me — you can find 
pleasure in any way you see fit,” said Mr. Burton. “You 
surely ought to enjoy a good, long, pleasant rest; so roam 
about as you please.” 

“We have roamed enough, and are going to help with 
the work,” said Balph decidedly. 

“ Put on your old clothes, then,” commanded Phil. Up 
in the garret they found the suits they had left when they 
marched away, but the clothes belonged to boys of sixteen 
and eighteen, and did not fit the men at all. 

“Why, they’ve growed up and didn’t know it,” said 
Bert. 

“ We’ve worn our uniforms in hotter places than a har- 
vest-field,” said Ned, as he came down stairs. Phil keeps 
as close to each as he can, intensely interested in what 
they have to tell. While the little boys follow them with 
wondering eyes. 

“We will never be thought any more of than we are to- 
day. See Aunt Bell and the girls come to the door every 
few minutes as if they were afraid that we would disap- 
pear.” 

,^“If you were not looking that way yourself, Ned, you 
would not be aware of the fact,” laughed Ealph. Ned 
was too happy to even care to reply. 

That night the boys related incidents of camp life to 
the group of listeners on the piazza, while the moon 
trailed her silver light over the white harvest fields. 

^ Where is Phil? ” Ned enquired. 

“Over to Mr. Peyton’s, I presume. He and Aggie are 
fast friends.” 

“So we are,” said Phil, coming around the house just 
as Sada finished speaking. “Aggie has real good sense, 
and you can tell all your plans to her without being 
laughed at. They are all so glad to have Eobert back, 


44 


jack’s afibe, 


that they can not see anyone else, and I came back to 
find some more blue-coats crowding me out again. You 
see, as long as I live, I shall be ridiculed, and despised, 
because I was not old enough to enlist. I must get back 
and go to work. I don’t want to make life a complete 
failure on account of my youngness.” 

“We will have Eobert and Aggie Peyton and Will 
Brown here some evening before you go,” said Aunt Bell, 
thinking of the happiness of all. 

The young people’s tea was a pleasant affair. “Dear 
me!” said Mrs. Burton between laughter and tears. “I 
almost thought it was a children’s party and had a mind 
to make turnovers and jumbles, and here are these youths, 
grown men, and have faced danger. Even Phil is a soph- 
omore and is talking of a profession. Madie is almost 
fourteen. Frank, we must be growing old.” 

“ So we are, Bell, but we are growing happier, too.” 

“What is the matter, Amy, are you tired so soon? ” 

“I am dizzy, and my head hurts a little ” They had 
been playing with grace hoops. Amy always enjoyed the 
game, but to-night she left them, and went to Mrs. Bur- 
ton, who bathed her head and sang to her, until she fell 

The next day Phil’s parents came, bringing Mrs. Carter 
with them. The older children, remembering their cyni- 
cal relative, did not exhibit a great deal of enthusiasm at 
the meeting. “There, children, Prue will kiss you all; 
she seems to enjoy it. I don’t care to indulge! Mr. 
Mills, how do you do ? I see you are back again. Edwin, 
you have grown some, but I should have known you any 
where, although you are both as brown as Indians.” 

“Yes, we have been out of doors quite a good deal in 
the last four years,” Ned dryly replied. 

Aunt Prue heard both remarks. “Bless me! so you 
have, boys. But you did good work, and I am proud of 
you.” 

“Mrs. Carter has not changed,” saidEalph. 

“ Aunt Sarah is sharp to everyone. She judges 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


45 


harshly. Every person is bad, either boldly or slyly,” 
said Phil. 

“ Does she think so of herself?” 

“No, indeed! She is a stanch church- woman, and is 
on the right road. The rest of us are wrong.” 

“ How can she be a Christian and think that way of the 
world! Are you not mistaken ? ” 

“ She will be greatly surprised, if she doesn’t get 
through all right, for she has made all sorts of calcula- 
tions on it. If she is correct in her surmises, she will 
have it pretty much her own way, as she will be very 
nearly alone.” 

“Philip Burton,” cried Ned, catching him by the shoul- 
der, “you ought to be ashamed of talking about Aunt 
Sarah in that way I It isn’t nice at all. I do not believe 
in speaking unkindly of people.” 

The hot blood mounted to Phil’s face. “Aunt Sarah 
is good enough. I only told her characteristics. I didn’t 
say whether I liked them or not. I merely gave Ealph 
to understand that she expected to give in a minority re- 
port of goodness, with herself as chairman and committee.” 
There was a saucy gleam in his eye when he finished. 

“She is good hearted,” said Ned. 

“Pshaw, I don’t think that is a compliment! When one 
person has abused another all he can, he usually ends up 
with, rather good hearted, though.” I just as soon a per- 
son should not call me that. It has come to be an apolo- 
getic term for a fool.” Then these three young men 
laughed in concert. 

Mrs. Carter entertained them with encomiums upon 
“My Niece, Hattie” — a girl a few years older than 
Madie, whose originality of thought and character was 
completely destroyed by the dictates of fashion. “Hattie 
busies herself all the time with something. She has just 
completed a beautiful altar cloth for our church. Made- 
line what have you done since I went away ? ” 

“ I have been busy most of the time, and have tried to 
help mamma. But I can’t think, now, of a single bit of 
work that I have done,” she answered confusedly. 


46 


jack’s afiee, 


“A girl who cannot account for time spent better than 
that must not expect any of my property.” 

“ Let her keep it,” Phil whispered. 

While Christa, on the other side, gave her hand a little 
squeeze and said, “Don’t feel badly! We can manage.” 

That evening, into one of the blissful quiets, that often 
falls on a united company, Mrs. Carter entered abruptly. 
“ Well, I suppose you have decided on something to do? ” 

“ There, Sarah, they haven’t been home long enough. 
They will surely want a little rest after all they have been 
through,” said Aunt Prue. 

Mrs. Burton, holding Amy in her arms, thought, “It is 
too bad, after having so much of their youth taken from 
them, that they cannot pleasure one little week.” 

Ralph was the first to answer: “I shall enter college 
this fall, and, if I have not forgotten too much, shall fit 
myself to teach.” 

“ I shall keep with Ralph at school, and shall finally 
study law,” said Ned. 

“ They are going away again,” sobbed Bert, and the 
other children joined in the outcry. 

“I shall be a dentist and pull teeth, tongues, too,” said 
Phil, in a savage undertone. 

“Amy, dear, do you feel worse ? ” The child was moving 
restlessly. “ Children, you must be quiet. We will keep 
Ralph and Ned for some time yet.” Sada went over to 
her little sister. “ She has a fever and her throat seems 
sore,” said Mrs. Burton. 

“They are having scarlet fever in the city,” said Mrs. 
Carter. 

“ Don’t mention it, Sarah,” said good Prue, as she arose 
to go. “ It isn’t at all likely they’ll have it out here.” 

The next morning Aunt Sarah’s dark prophecy was 
realized ; for a week they watched the little sufferer, and in 
the gloaming of the Sabbath she went away alone. 

When all was over, Sada, who had watched beside her 
sister bravely and faithfully, went to Harry and attended 
to his wants. After he had gone to sleep, she passed 
the silent room, down to the lonely piazza. “ Is every- 


OE, THE BUETON TOECH. 


47 


thing I love to be taken from me ? ” she cried out in her 
grief. 

“ I hope not, dear.” Ned came from the shadow and stood 
beside her. 

“ I have only Harry left, and what if the fever should 
go through the house and take him and Bert and 
Benjie.” 

“ Let us trust as Aunt Bell trusts. I can’t comfort you, 
Sada, buc I want you to know that I am sorry for you.” 
He was wiping her tears away; Mrs. Burton, coming 
to the door just then, all at once understood something of 
the future of these two under her charge. Sada was 
weeping still, and she, with her heart full of anxiety for 
her own little ones, found, in that great, motherly heart, 
room for love and pity of this orphan girl. She soothed 
her with loving words. After she had seen her to her 
room and sleeping quietly, she went back to the others to 
note if there were any symptoms of the fever. Meeting 
Ned in the hall, she looked at him earnestly and said, 
“Be careful, my boy.” 

With a curious look, he answered, “Yes, until I get 
through school, but now and always I shall think the 
same.” 

The dread disease swept through the family, but little 
Amy was the only one taken from them. “How tired 
Aunt Bell looks,” said Ealph, when the last patient was 
growing convalescent. 

“ I know it, and I have a plan to unfold. Call the girls, 
please,” said Ned. When the plan was laid before the girls, 
all agreed that it would be grand to give the dear mother 
a rest. They told her that evening. “We want you to 
go East with Aunt Prue, and well all keep house together,” 
said Ned eagerly. 

“I don’t see how I can leave,” she said in a perplexed 
way. “ It will be hard for these young girls to take 
mother’s place.” 

“We can’t take your place, but we will try to make the 
wheels run as smoothly as possible,” said Sada, standing 
behind her chair and stroking the brown hair softly. 


48 


jack’s afire, 


“Please go, mamma! We will miss you, out we will man- 
age, somehow.” 

“How much Christa comprises in that one word ‘man- 
age.’” Mrs. Burton smiled as she spoke. “I don’t see 
how I can afford it,” she added doubtfully. 

Mr. Burton had been an amused listener to the pleadings 
of the young people He now brought forward his opin- 
ion to help her to decide. “I agree with Christabel, that 
we can manage.” 

“If you could go, too, Frank!” 

“But I cannot at present.” 

“ Please not to say any more! I feel homesick already.” 
They were startled by a wail from the room above. A 
hurried pattering of little feet down the stairs. “Benjie, 
what is the matter?” 

“This modder is going away, like my oder one 
did,” sobbed Harry Lee, “and we can’t ‘manage’ not a 
tall.” 

“Why, darling, I thought you were asleep!” 

“ I was asleep,” he said, nestling close to Mrs. Burton, 
“but Benjie woked me.” 

“Why did you do that, Benjie?” 

“Well, ’cause that stove-pipe hole you left last spring 
when you took the stove out, just leaked the words right 
through, and I woked Harry and told him there was go- 
ing to be another dead one in this house, and we didn’t 
neither one of us want it so, and we cried ’cause we 
couldn’t help it.” Both broke into another cry to empha- 
size the remarks. 

They were comforted and sent back to bed, but the 
rest of the family were very careful of the “ stove-pipe hole 
that leaked,” for fear of another commotion. 

The next morning, Mr. Benjamin Burton and family 
came out from the city. “We’re taking you by storm 
this time,” were Aunt Prue’s first words. 

“We’re on business and might as well explain now as 
to joke about it. Ben and Prue are going with me to 
Joseph’s next week, and if Bell can get ready and not 
take all the children, we want her to go too.” Aunt 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


49 


Sarah had reached the house and the end of her sentence 
at the same time. 

“Just what we were talking about last night,” said Ned. 
“I believe she will go.” 

Phil handed a letter to Sada that he had brought from 
the office. She took it and left the room ; it was from her 
mother’s sister. She opened it and read: 

“My Dear Niece and Nephew: 

I earnestly beg your pardon for my apparent 
neglect. I did not know that you were left entirely 
alone, until I received your letter telling of Amy’s 
death. I hope you will give me a chance to redeem myself. 
I, too, have known deep grief. Both my boys were shot 
at Vicksburg. We had forgotten all others in our own 
great sorrow. My poor children, I want you to come to us. 
Perhaps we may comfort each other. Enclosed find sum 
for expenses. Please convey my thanks to your friends, 
such people reawaken one’s faith in the world. Your un- 
cle is too busy to write, but says : ‘ Tell them I shall 

be glad to welcome both, for the sake of the father and 
mother I loved so well.’ Hoping to see you very soon, I 
am, your loving Aunt, Ellen Grenall.” 

Sada read the letter again before she gathered all its 
meaning. “ It almost breaks my heart to think of leav- 
ing, but this is what I ought to do,” she thought, as she 
went down to the others, her new grief leaving a shadow 
on her pale face. 

■ “ Are you sick, dear?” Aunt Prue asked. 

“No, ma’am; I’ve only been thinking and planning.” 

Aunt Bell, catching her wistful look, followed her to 
the kitchen. Sada quietly handed her the letter. She 
read it carefully. “ This is a real kindly letter, and I am 
glad you have it ; but remember, my child, that I want you 
to do as you wish. This is your home as long as you and 
Harry choose to stay. They may be able to do for you 
better than we can, yet what we have you are welcome 
to.” 

Sada could not answer, but went out down the path 

4 


50 


JACK S AFIEE, 


through the orchard and over to the sunny slope where 
little Amy was resting for eternity. “Little sister, what 
shall I do ? ” and only the silence crept about her. 

When she returned, she went to the younger ones, who 
were discussing the proposed visit. Carrie had lain aside 
her tatting and was speaking to the others. “ I am go- 
ing to stay with Mamie Lovell ; Bay is going to board 
there. I don’t know what Phil will do.” 

“I’ll tell you,” Phil answered for himself. “I’m going 
to stay on this very farm if father and Uncle Frank are 
agreed.” 

“That will be just grand, mamma must go,” said 
Madie. “ Let us hurry and get the work done, and talk 
it over all together.” 

No step was ever taken in that family unless it was 
first “ talked about all together.” 

When the shadows, which marked the day’s work as 
nearly done, lay across the lawn, they met to talk and 
plan. Mr. Burton began, “I particularly desire Bell to 
go with you on your trip. We can afford to have her go 
better than to stay and get sick as she surely will if she 
does not rest.” 

“ Ben, Prue and I have decided already. I’ll help Bell 
with her preparations,” said Mrs. Carter promptly. 

“ I think we ought to listen to the younger ones now.” 
Mrs. Burton glanced at each youthful face as she spoke. 

“ The others seem bashful, so I will speak for them,” 
Phil explained. “We boys are going to college in a 
month, and I would like to stay here while Aunt Bell is 
away. I think my experience would be of great benefit 
to the young housekeepers. Carrie will stay at Mrs. 
Lovell’s and will make clover-leaf and all kinds of tatting 
and crochet work, and will have a lovely time. She’ll go 
to boarding school by and by, ‘ because every young lady 
does now-a-days, you know,’” with a sly glance at Aunt 
Sarah. He was the only one of the younger members of 
the family who did not stand in awe of his grim relative. 

Mrs. Carter turned to Sada, who was holding Harry. 
“ What do you intend to do? ” 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


51 


Sada looked quickly around the group, then, in a voice 
so low that only those nearest could hear, she said, “I 
must do what I can for myself and little brother. We 
have burdened our dear friends here long enough. I 
should like to be of some service to some one. My aunt 
has written me, I think she needs me, and her letter made^ 
me feel as if I needed her.” She looked at Ned, who had* 
turned from the group, and was pulling the leaves of the 
grape-vine to pieces. 

“Dear, dear,” sobbed Christa, “It seems as if I had 
something to cry for all the time.” Madie had lain her 
head on Carrie’s shoulder, and was crying bitterly. 

“Mrs. Burton, please tell them that I must go, although 
I love you all so well; Aunt Ellen is my mother’s oldest 
sister, and this is best for me to do. Ned, can’t you help 
me?” Ned went over to her, and, taking Harry from 
her arms, carried him to the house ; returning immediately, 
he found the girls had gone out under the trees to- 
gether. 

“ Don’t trouble her with useless questions and objec- 
tions. The poor child has been tortured enough,” he 
said gently. 

“ I think she had better go with us, and Harry will not 
then be such a trouble to her,” Mrs. Burton suggested. 

“ Bell will go now. There will be a baby to care for,’’ 
said Mrs. Carter. 

“Mamma, what will we do without Sada?” asked Ma- 
die tearfully. 

“My little daughter has been brave; will she try 
again?” 

Madie’ s brown eyes met her mother’s bravely. She 
was self-forgetful always. “Brave little sister,” said 
Ealph ; but cheerful, earnest Ned was silent; Mrs. Bur- 
ton noted it and understood. 

“ If Madeline does this work, I believe I shall give her 
a piano.” Aunt Sarah generously gave this provisional 
promise one day, when the preparations were nearly 
made. A glad light shown in Madie’ s eyes. Sada was 
very sober during those last days, but she had been walk- 


52 


jack’s afire, 


ing in the shadow so long that she had grown accnstomed 
to it, “ and this,” she said sadly, “ is only one thing 
more.” The little girls brought her many a girlish tri- 
fle as a parting keepsake. They would sit long together, 
and separate with a strange look on their young faces. 
There was a new tenderness in each voice when address • 
ing either of those so soon to leave. 

The trunks were packed, and Mr. Burton drove to the 
door. His wife bade her family a tender good by. Sada 
and her almost sisters sobbed their farewells, clinging 
close to one another; then little Harry was passed around 
and Ralph carried him to Mrs. Burton. Sada gave one 
last look from the window, toward the resting-place of her 
little sister. She turned to meet Ned’s glance and out- 
stretched hand. “ Good by, dear,” he said softly. “ Don’t 
forget, Sada, sometime I shall come to you, so wait.” 

The deep gray eyes looked straight into his own. “ I 
shall not forget, and shall try always to be what my dear 
friends wish me to be.” He bent suddenly and kissed 
her once, but she went into the night alone. 

Mrs. Carter had grown impatient at the delay, and in 
reply to her brother’s query of “ all ready?” said curtly, 
“ but they will be in the course of a week or so.” 

“ Bravo! Aunt Sarah, you are improving. I believe 
you could be trained to take a joke.” She ignored Phil’s 
remark. 

“ Where is that package I was going to take to Joseph; 
did you put it in the trunk, Madeline?” 

“ Oh, Aunt Sarah, I forgot it;' I left it on the table, I 
think.” 

‘ ‘ A girl of fourteen, who cannot attend to matters bet- 
ter than that, can go without a piano.” Madie had run 
errands and been generally useful all the week, but she 
had forgotten this last duty in the sadness of parting. 

“ Never mind, Madie, get it and mamma will put it in 
her valise,” said Mrs. Burton soothingly. 

They drove away, and Madie went out under her favor- 
ite elm tree, feeling lonely and sorrowful. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


53 


CHAPTEE VIL 

RUNNING FOR CONGRESS. 

Phil went in search of his consin. “Madie, where 
aie you?” 

“Here,” answered a muffled voice. 

He seated himself beside her. “ You’ll miss them, 
Mai, but Sada will come back sometime, and your mother 
will only be gone a little while.” 

“ I know, Phil, but I’ve been thinking of Amy, and 
about their being gone, and you boys will go away in a 
month. I hope it isn’t selfish, but I am disappointed 
about that piano. There are so many dreadful things to 
feel badly over.” 

“Well, little cousin, you might as well do up your fall 
crying now as any time, and when you’ve had a real good 
time feeling miserable, and cried for everything you’ve 
wanted to cry for, we’ll go to the house.” Madie smiled, 
but grew sober in a moment. 

“There is no use in trying to avoid it, we are awfully 
poor ; please not to mention it to the boys, but I believe it 
grows worse every day, although I try to help all I can. 
Aunt Sarah talks so much about Hattie ; I wish I amounted 
to as much as she does.” 

“I’ll tell you honestly, Mai, if I were a stranger I’d ask 
for an introduction to both of us before I would to her, for 
I believe we are better worth knowing. It may be that 
you are not destined to be rich ; possibly ‘ fame is going to 
wreathe your brow with laurels.’ People of genius always 
have a fearful time. As likely as not you are a genius, 
but candidly, Mai, I never dreamed it.” 

“ People are always far-sighted where genius is con- 
cerned; they never see one in their midst until someone 
from a distance points her out.” 

“ That’s so, Madie ; I’ve often thought I might be a won- 


54 


jack’s afire. 


der myself, but I’m willing to share honors with you.” 
They started for the house, meeting Ned and Christa in 
the door. She had sought refuge in tears, and had been 
comforted by Ned-, who had mastered his own feelings to 
help the others. 

“ So you’ve been in the moonlight building ‘ castles in 
the air,’ and romancing. Well, children, you couldn’t 
help it; it’s a disease as sure to strike childhood and 
youth as the measles.” 

“And, like the measles, one may have it twice. It gen- 
erally proves fatal the second time, so look out, Edwin,” and 
Phil laughed mischievously. 

“The world is always bright to the very youthful, so 
laugh away, my child,” said Ned teasingly. 

“Just what we intend to do. I know one man who 
never laughs, and it is about as comforting to look at him 
as at a smoked herring. It is ever so much better to 
laugh than to cry.” 

“I agree with you, Phil,” said Ned cordially. “I 
want the girls to rest to-night, for to-morrow they begin 
work as housekeepers.” He drew his cousins toward him 
and looked at them fondly. 

Breakfast was an easy meal the next morning, ’ as the 
thoughtful mother had left everything prepared. Balph 
and Ned were praising Madie’s effort, when Phil inter- 
posed, “ Don’t flatter her too much, she’ll tire out; She’s 

‘ Not over fond of worruk; 

’Tis the way with all the Bradys.’ 

Madie and Piiil studied the cook-book. Sometimes 
the victuals were rare done, sometimes burned to a cin- 
der. They steadily improved, however, and all were very 
lenient to the youthful cooks. 

“I used to tliink housekeeping required no skill, but I 
have learned differently; I actually believe it takes gen- 
ius.” Phil made this remark to his cousins one evening 
as he was turning the bread in the oven. 

There came a day before which the trials of all the 
other days vanished into insignificance. A convention to 
nominate delegates to send to the congressional conven- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


55 


tion, met at tRe school -house. Mr. Burton came in that 
morning looking perplexed. 

“They have apportioned the delegates from abroad, 
among those here ; as I am one, and live so near the school- 
house, I ought to take about six ; could you get dinner for 
them?” he asked. No one replied fora moment. Ralph 
turned to Christa. 

“Why don’t you say ‘we can manage?’ ” 

“We will do the best we can, papa,” said Madie. 

“Let us take some out-door exercise. I feel the need 
of it,” said Phil. 

They were standing by the swing, when the primmest 
looking man they had ever seen, drove in the yard. 

“May I enquire if this is Mr. Burton’s residence?” 

“ Let him enquire as long as he pleases, but don’t you dare 
tell him,” muttered Phil, but Ralph had already answered. 

“ I was not positive whether I had followed directions 
implicitly or not.” 

They were in the kitchen staring helplessly at each 
other. “Talks in words of three syllables and uses con- 
junctions to join them,” said Phil. 

“Here is another reinforcement!” Ned cheerfully in- 
formed them. Madie wrung her hands, and stood speech- 
less. “There is dinner, and there are those men,” she 
finally gasped. 

“Don’t worry, we will get along all right,” Ned prom- 
ised hopefully. How they all worked that morning! 
Ralph acted as hostler and general out-door man, keeping 
the little boys with him. They had the table arranged an 
hour before time. 

“Don’t you think we had better get the flies out now?” 
Phil asked. 

“ Certainly,” Ned agreed. While this work was being 
done, someone overturned the castor, the vinegar spread 
over the table-cloth. “Talk about everlasting influence. 
Look there,” said Ned. The cloth had to be changed, but 
through it all they remained cheerful. 

“ If Ralph and Ned will only meet them and help 
through dinner,” said Madie. 


56 


jack’s afire, 


“ Of course we will,” they cheerfully promised. 

“If it were only corned beef and beans we were going 
to have, we could see to the rations,” said Ned. 

“ Those pies are made after the same receipt I used the 
other day, but they don’t look half as well.” Madie’s 
voice was full of discouragement as she said this. 

“ You are getting to be a nice little cook. When you 
go to housekeeping I’ll send you a library of cook-books,” 
said Phil, with reckless generosity. 

“Better send a hired girl for six months,” Madie re- 
plied, a trifle petulantly. 

“She reminds me, too,” he went on, “of the man who 
had such an even temper, he was mad all the time.” 

“So would you, if” — she did not finish her sentence, 
the table-leaf was too heavily weighted and came down 
with a crash, carrying two of the three pies with it, and a 
pan of milk. “It is too late to make another pie. ’ Madie 
tried to speak bravely, but the tears were very near. 

“There is enough for the politicians and we’ll do 
without. I never did care much for pie,” said Ned, gath- 
ering up the debris. 

“Nor I,” said Phil, “especially this time of year.” 

“ Here is half a pie saved,” and Christa joyfully exhib- 
ited it. “It didn’t overturn and you can have this for 
lunch.” 

Instead of six guests there were eight, “ and that pie of 
only six pieces!” Madie’s voice was full of tragedy, that 
tragedy whose reminiscence is always comedy, but which is 
pitifully real at the moment. 

“Bring out the half that was left whole,” were Ned’s 
orders. “We can get three pieces out of this. Give one 
to Uncle Prank, and the others to the two men that look 
least hungry. I object to pie myself, on hygienic princi- 
ples.” 

They came before they were ready for them, and Madie 
presided, as she afterward learned, with crock on her face 
and flour in her hair. “One man reminds me of the 
young lady in the reader. ‘ The only wonder is that one 
head can contain it all,’ ” Phil confided to Madie, while 


OE, THE BUKTON TORCH. 


57 


industriously pouring colfee. “ Hear the words come! he 
must have swallowed a dictionary and taken a slow emetic ; 
he talks just as if the words were forced up.” 

“ How shall I manage to get through with this dinner? 
Will it go ofip all right? Will they be here to supper?” 
Madie silently questioned Fortune, Fate or the Future. A 
gentleman spoke to her; she did not answer until recalled 
to the present by her father’s glance, and ansAvered “yes,” 
at random. 

“How those statesmen do eat,” said Phil, as dish after 
dish came back to be replenished. “F 11 keep you posted, 
Ned, if anything happens.” 

“All right! There was a man in the regiment who al- 
ways told bad news as soon as he could. He said he 
wanted to get all the pleasure out of it possible.” 

It seemed to Madie, sitting at the head of the table and 
looking at those strange faces, as if she should die of 
mortification. When her father called for more potatoes, 
what should she say, the tears sprang to her eyes. Phil 
came bravely to the rescue. “Gentlemen, we are novices 
in housekeeping, and Ave never worked for the government 
before. We didn’t know how many delegates we were 
elected for. We have an abundance of raw potatoes. My 
cousins and I will prepare them in any way you may de- 
sire, but our supply of cooked potatoes is exhausted. If 
my aunt had been here, this would not have happened. I 
am not very well posted myself, and my cousins are 
young.” 

The delegates laughed heartily at Phil’s speech. “ You 
have done splendidly,” said each and all. Madie’s happi- 
est moment that day was the moment they arose from the 
table. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” said Ned that afternoon when 
the work was done, “I have a fellow feeling with the 
man Avho said it was ‘ fifty dollars damage to him, to be 
poor,’ if Ave had had a girl to help to-day. No, I don’t 
l3elieve I Avish it, for experience is everything. I’ve learned 
this: because the household duties seem to slide along 
easily in their respective grooves, is no sign of their being 


58 


jack’s afire. 


easy to perform. It takes wisdom, care and patience, and 
as Phil says, * A housekeeper is a genius.’ ” 

“ I wonder if Aunt Sarah would be astonished if she 
were to hear of this day’s work. I presume Hattie would 
have known just what to have done. I expect she is very 
good.” 

“I think,” said Ned, when Madie had finished speaking, 
“ that it is about as bad to be good and know it, and be 
vain about it, as it is to be handsome, and aware and vain 
of the fact. Aunt Sarah’s is a rather aggressive goodness, 
it makes me wicked to see her self-righteous actions. 
What do you think, Phil ? ” 

“ Oh, my friends! I have kept up bravely and given a 
piece of my mind, to one and another, until I haven’t any 
left.” 

“ There are some stories of adventure that are good to 
repeat, for years after; it seems to me that this day’s work 
could be classed among these,” said Ralph, laughingly re- 
calling the incidents of the day. 

After this the work went on smoothly until Mrs. 'Bur- 
ton’s return. When she had been led all through the 
house by Benjie “.to see how awful nice it was,” and they 
had heard of their eastern relatives, and of Sada’snew home, 
of the kind uncle and aunt who gave them a cordial welcome, 
they took their favorite position out of doors, while Phil 
related their housekeeping experience. 

Mrs. Burton laughed merrily. “Ned wrote me about 
the convention and I gave the letter to Sarah to read.” 

“What did she say?” asked Christa eagerly. 

“ She seemed both surprised and pleased; her pleasure 
expended itself — but I think I had better not tell you. 
Your reward is coming up the road now.” ' 

Ralph and Ned went out to meet Mr. Burton, who had 
driven back to the depot. They unloaded a huge box at 
the door. Madie looked once, and turned to her mother. 

“A piano, oh, mamma! I am so glad, so very glad, I 
can’t tell it; but I am afraid I do not deserve it. I had so 
much help.” 

“We are willing you should have it;” and three of the 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


59 


happiest young men in the state proceeded to place the 
piano in the little parlor. 

“Mamma, I shall always remember what you have 
taught me, ‘ not to despise the day of small things house- 
work shall be mastered by me,” whispered Madie. 

Phil swung his hat and gave “three cheers and a tiger,” 
the latter being the regular college yell. He went to his 
cousin and said, suiting the action to the word, “allow 
genius to bow to genius. Biches did not bring your piano, 
neither did work. Fame stepped in and won the day. 
My dear, don’t you see ? You got it by simply ‘ Running 
for Congress.’ ” 


60 


JACK^S AFIRE, 


CHAPTEE YIII. 

“ IF MADELINE WERE A BOY.” 

Nature had begun to hang out her sign of the season 
when the young men entered college. “We have enjoyed 
a beautiful rest and vacation. Now we must work again.” 

“ It seems to me as if you were going South. I am 
very glad, however, that you are going to work for your- 
selves,” said Mrs. Burton. 

The family was alone and felt as if the house were 
nearly empty. Happy letters came of college life, and 
our heroes were fairly launched in their work. 

Phil decided to study medicine. “ I hardly knew 
whether to take law* or medicine,” he wrote his mother; 
“each has its advantages and disadvantages. I was 
anxious to settle on some definite plan. I presume I shall 
like the other better after I settle on the one, but there 
is no use in disliking things promiscuously. If I am go- 
ing to be miserable, I want to know what it’s to be about. 
Law has seemed very pleasant and attractive to me, ever 
since I made up my mind.” 

Mr, Burton grew more grave and quiet than usual as 
the season advanced. “Bell,” said he one evening when 
they were alone together, “I believe I shall have to make 
that payment on Willard’s note myself.” 

“I have been watching. Prank. It hardly seems pos- 
sible. He certainly could pay part of it. I am sure Mr. 
Mason would wait.” 

“I think he is cramped himself. I was careful not to 
mention it before Ealph and Ned, they would have given 
up savings and plans instantly, and I did not want that 
done.” 

“You were wise ; their lives have been darkened enough.” 

“If Madeline were a boy, she would be a great deal of 
assistance, and we could go West immediately. This pay- 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


61 


ment would cripple us somewhat, still we would have 
enough left to improve a homestead, yet it would not be 
home, would it, dear?” 

“Where you and the children are will always be home 
to me,” she bravely answered. 

The stove-pipe hole, that had troubled Benjie so mud] 
by leaking, was there still. Madie, occupy iiig that 
room, overheard the conversation. Two years before her 
father had signed a note with a neighbor; it would bo due 
in a short time. “What can I do? I will do something 
yet, to help papa. Girls can do ever so much, and I mean 
to try. I wish I could see Phil.” 

The dread idea grew into a reality, as October unfurled 
her gold and crimson banners and planted them on the 
hillside. “The farm must go,” Mr. Burton sadly declared. 

“ I can’t bear to think of the place going to strangers,” 
Mrs. Burton confessed to her sister who was spending 
these last days with her. Prue understood her sister’s 
feeling ; all her married life had been spent on this farm, 
ghosts of vanished joys and vanished days haunted her 
daily. Each field, each tree in the yard, brought up some- 
taing that opened the flood gates of memory, and the 
full tide of recollection flowed over all. 

“Can’t we manage somehow?” 

“1 think not, little daughter; another place will grow 
dear to us in a few years. I have drawn so many depos- 
its from memory that I should think it would cease payment 
before very long,” she said with a tender smile. 

Winter did not tarry for them. “We had better not 
go before spring. I will go for a few weeks, but the 
family must stay here,” declared Mr. Burton. 

“ Move into the city near us. Madie and Christa can 
study music and attend school, and I will see that your 
brother takes care of my sister,” said Mrs. Benjamin Bur- 
ton to her brother-in-law. 

“I can see the advantage of our double relationship 
more than ever before,” he cheerfully rejoined. 

One more Thanksgiving was kept at the old farm-house. 
All gathering there to celebrate. Sada’s letters were read 


62 


jack’s afiee, 


by the students. “If Ned has any difficulty in reading 
her writing I will lend him all the assistance in my 
power,” said Ralph quietly. 

It was well known that the two young people kept up a 
regular correspondence, and this remark was fully appre- 
ciated. “What has become of the picture,” Christa 
asked. Ned was very deeply interested in something out 
of doors at that moment, and did not reply. 

When they met at Christmas time, they were in their 
city home. A watch-meeting was held, and Madie’s text 
was adopted by all. “ Let your light so shine before men, 
that they may see your good works, and glorify your 
father which is in Heaven.” 

Madie did excellent work in school that winter. Coming 
home one afternoon, eager and glad to tell the joyful news 
that she “could graduate in two years if she studiedhard;” 
giving her teacher as authority. “If I can do this I can 
help them all so much,” she thought with pleasure. Late 
and early t.ie girl studied, weaving the warp and woof of 
thought and plan, to form the fabric of a woman’s earnest 
life. 

A brighter spring morning never dawned, than the one 
which found our family ready to start. 

“I am glad there are no more here; I feel so badly to 
bid this many good by,” said Bert. 

“What is the matter, Sam?” Mr. Burton asked of the 
man who was to drive the extra team. 

‘I’ve made up my mind not to go. My woman thinks 
we’d better stay here, so there is no use in looking up a 
place.” 

“What will you do, Frank?” Prue asked doubtfully. 

“ If Madie were a boy she could drive.” 

“Will you let me try it, papa? Mamma, tell him I 
can do it.” 

“ I believe she can, Frank, and we need not be de- 
layed.” So they drove off. And the old farm-house, 
where they had spent so many happy days, was hereafter to 
be but a tender memory. The children were delighted 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


63 


with the shifting scenes. Rocks came out to meet them. 
The bluffs of the great river, so long dim and hazy in the 
distance, grew plainer. The shadows climbed higher and 
higher, and one morning the travelers looked out to see 
them float away over to the other side, and the rocky hills 
stand out in the clear sunlight. “It will be all sunshine 
when we cross the river,” said Madie gleefully. 

The girl teamster kept up bravely ; in sunshine or in 
rain, she carried out the work she had begun. She sent 
many a thought boat sailing on the sea of air, which re- 
turned to the port of her brain, after a time, with a full 
cargo of rounded sentences. 

At last the journey was ended, and the cabin made to 
appear home-like. The trifles that had made their eastern 
home cosy and comfortable were made to serve the same 
purpose in their western dwelling. “ The piano Alls up 
the room pretty well, but I could not give up my beautiful 
present, could I?” 

“ I am glad you have it, Madie. The sweet old songs 
will sound very nicely in this strange place. I did not 
believe in disposing of the few nice articles we had for 
half price, and going without for years.” 

“How fast the days go, mamma! I haven’t done half 
I intended to.” 

“It is a very great feat accomplished when one has 
really learned to take hold of a day.” 

“Just listen, mamma!” Madie was standing in the 
doorway, looking out over the prairie. 

“To what? Nothing?” asked her mother, coming 
to her side. 

“Yes, but it is the sweetest nothing I overheard.” 

“You’ll And that there is a difference, even in silences,” 
Mrs. Burton said, resuming her work. Looking out over 
the waving prairie with the sky bending so tenderly 
above it, Madie felt a quiet within her, such as she had 
never felt before. When Nature lays her Anger tips 
over the world, she usually lulls to rest and sleep. 

They received a letter from the students, telling them 
that they would not be with them that summer vacation. 


64 


jack’s afiee, 


“We are going geologizing, and afterward will help class- 
ify specimens, so we can keep in school next year. We 
will get through together, as I am catching up with Ealph, 
slowly but surely,” Ned wrote. 

Another letter came from still farther east, stating that 
Mr. Joseph Burton would make them a visit in a few days. 
His brother went to the nearest railroad station — fifty 
miles away — to meet him. The visitor was greatly inter- 
ested in his brother’s children, and they repaid his love 
with interest. 

“I believe his soul is as white as his hair,” Madie said 
impulsively. 

Uncle Joe overheard her. “Perhaps it is; there is a 
black streak here and there in each,” he said to himself. 

Madie was sitting by the window, one hand folded idly 
over the other, one day shortly after her undle’s arrival. 
“What makes my niece so sober?” 

“I am only thinking; and when a person thinks she is 
apt to be sober, isn’t she? ” 

“Usually, I think! Can’t Madie make a confidant of 
Uncle Joe?” 

“Yes, I can,” she answered, turning suddenly toward 
him. 

' “We will walk across the prairie and I will gladly lis- 
ten,” he said. 

“ Uncle Joe, I want to help papa and mamma; how can 
I?” 

Her uncle looked at her curiously. This young girl, 
eager to help her family, was so different from his own 
daughter, whose thoughts were absorbed by the gay so- 
ciety around her. “Would you like to go through 
school?” 

“I would if papa could afford it.” 

“Perhaps he will let me afford it for him.” 

“/ couldn’t do that, unless it were as a loan. Uncle Joe.” 

Her independence was another surprise to him. A 
phase of woman’s character he never had seen before. 
“We will talk about that by and by. I want to make you 
a present, what shall it be, jewelry, books or a pet?” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


65 


“I do not care for jewelry, and please do not give me a 
pet of any kind. I had one once and had to give her up.” 

“What was it?” 

“A cow; and I never have liked cattle since. You need 
not give me anything, Uncle Joe; I shall love you just as 
well,” she said, slipping her hand in his. 

In answer to his inquiry, Mrs. Burton gave him a his- 
tory of Star. 

“ Does she like horses ? ” he asked, after listening intently 
to the story. 

“ Very much.” 

“ Frank, can you find room for a horse on the farm? ” 

“I think I can, but be careful, Joe, and not spoil my 
girls.” 

“I do not think they will be easily spoiled,” he said 
decidedly. 

One evening, after having been gone all day, the broth- 
ers drove home, and Uncle Joe called for Madie and 
Christa to come out. In the wagon was a dainty Jersey 
calf. “ This is your property, Christa.” At the rear of 
the wagon, a black colt was hitched ; “ and this belongs to 
you, Madie, to remember your Uncle Joe by.” 

“I can’t think of any words strong enough to express 
my thanks.” 

“I am thoroughly satisfied, your faces have expressed 
enough.” He gave a token to each of the boys and said, 
“You can take care of yourselves. When I see a girl who 
is anxious to be independent, I want to help her.” 

When he left them he gave Madie two crisp bank notes. 
“You can invest this in something to help the family if 
you wish, or keep it for yourself. If you need any assist- 
ance or would like to talk to anyone, write to Uncle Joe,” 
and he kissed her good by. 


6 


66 


JACK'S AFIBE, 


CHAPTEE IX. 

WOBK, WOOL AND WISDOM. 

The days of that summer came and went, and autumn 
followed on with her golden treasures. The girl’s cher- 
ished pets, Daisy, the calf, and the colt Leon, prospered 
and grew ; the children roamed over the prairie and re- 
turned with their hands filled with wild flowers. 

One day some men came and looked and went away. 
They came back with chain and compass, and others fol- 
lowed with spade and shovel. And another day, a shrill 
scream was sent out over the Nebraska plain, the puff, 
puff of the struggling iron horse was heard. The throb, 
throb of the great world behind it was felt. Civilization 
had passed way on beyond them, and “out west” was a 
hundred miles nearer sunset. The county-seat was located 
only three miles away. 

“I’ve been trying to realize that this is the same place 
we found when we came. Is the change in it or us ? I 
feel as if we had changed, too,” said Madie one bright 
afternoon, in one of her confidentials with her mother. 

“ I think we have all changed together,” said Mrs. Bur- 
ton. 

“Talk about ‘people growing up with the country!’ see 
how much work it has taken to make the country grow up 
with the people.” Madie pointed to a long emigrant 
train that was steaming over the plain as she spoke. 

The little girl had offered the money, given her by her 
uncle, to her father. “No, keep it, daughter; I desire 
you to use it for yourself.” How many plans she laid in 
regard to it. That twenty dollars had bought everything 
that any member of the family expressed a wish for. If 
Mrs. Burton mentioned the need of an article of food or 
clothing, Madie’ s money was brought forward with cheer- 
ful alacrity, and if anyone had proposed the Northwest 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 67 

passage as a benefit to any one of her people, those two 
bank notes would have been immediately produced. 

A neighbor “ dropped in ” one afternoon, and, in the 
course of conversation, advised Mr. Burton to invest in 
sheep. “You’ll find that they pay better than a’most 
anything else.” 

“I have thought of it,” said Mr. Burton, “ and perhaps 
I may.” 

“ I came over to talk a little about education. I want 
to organize a deestrict right away. It will take a good 
while to get everything to running. Lizy and me both 
are anxious to give the young ones a chance; we never 
lied no great chance at schoolin’ ourselves, and I suppose 
we feel the need of it all the more. I say. Burton, why 
can’t this girl of yours train the neighbors’ children this 
winter? She could have a room in Mitchell's house, 
and altogether, we could afford to pay her quite a good bit.” 

Madie looked eagerly at her father and mother. 

“ Madeline is too young,” said Mr, Burton. 

“Perhaps, Frank, it would be as well to let her try; it 
will be a care, to be sure, and I do not want her to do 
this unless she wishes it herself,” said his wife. 

“I should like to try, if you willlet me, and if you think 
I can teach them. If I should fail, mamma, that would 
be dreadful. I should be so ashamed and sorry for all of 
you.” 

“ You can just put it down that you ain’t a goin' to 
fail. You ain’t the kind of stuff that failin’ folks is made 
of. I’ll have all you can handle engaged before to-mor- 
row night,” and the man who loved gossip as well as the 
proverbial woman rose to go. 

“ Papa, can I buy sheep with the money Uncle Joe gave 
me?” 

“Why, yes, Madeline, if you wish to.” 

“Will you ask Mr. Crowan if he knows where I can get 
some? ” 

“I will.” 

This dialogue had been carried on in an aside, while 
Mrs. Burton was entertaining the visitor. 


68 


jack’s afiee, 


John Crowan was greatly pleased with the prompt tak- 
ing of his advice. He always had such a good supply of 
the article on hand, and usually could prescribe for such 
a small number. 

“My brother has got a lot of sheep; I’ll go over with 
you to-morrow ; we can see about the school on the way 
over. So you are going into sheep, are you, Madeline ? 
Well, I declare, that beats me. I say. Burton, she does 
about as well as a boy,” and he paid Madie the highest 
compliment known to the masculine mind. 

“ If I can help them at home as well as if I were a boy, 
I shall be glad,” said the young girl earnestly. 

The next evening found her the proud owner of eight 
sheep ; and twenty pupils were promised her on the fol- 
lowing week. 

Mr. Burton also invested in wool. Madie’ s property 
was marked by a hole in the left ear, to distinguish the 
two hocks. The sheep became quite well acquainted 
with their little mistress before school began. 

Monday morning came. “ What shall I do this first 
day, mamma ? I dreaded it, and yet I wanted it to come. 
What shall I say to them? ” 

“ Go into the work determined to help each one there. 
Do to-day just what you feel you can continue doing all 
the term. If you do not understand a question, study 
Upon it. Don’t assume to know more than you do.” 

“One thing, mamma, I shall not promise anything 
that I cannot fulfill. I have thought of my text ever so 
much lately, the one Mr. Mills read for me, ‘ The last 
shall be first and the first last.’ ” 

“If you are ‘ chosen,’ darling, be worthy of the trust.” 
Mrs. Burton kissed her tenderly as she spoke. This was 
her first glimpse of Madie as a woman, and it made her 
think soberly and earnestly all the forenoon. 

The young teacher found her scholars waiting for her 
outside the building ; she bade them a pleasant good morn- 
ing. Many of them were boys much older than herself. 
She had seen most of them before, but never in the light 
of this new relationship, and felt relieved when she found 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


69 


herself alone in the room that had been prepared as com- 
fortably as circumstances would permit. But the great- 
est ordeal she was yet to face. When they all came in 
and sat down facing her, she felt as if she were on stilts, 
and when she spoke, her voice sounded to herself like the 
boom of a cannon. A large boy, who had always looked 
upon life as a good joke, snapped a kernel of corn across 
the room and laughed at his own cunning. 

Madie looked at the faces before her, and said: “We 
will get our books and begin work, and oh, boys and girls, 
I hope you will do the best you can ; I honestly want to 
help you and to like every one of you, and I wish you 
would try and like me. I never did this work before, and 
I am anxious to do well. If we all work together, I think 
we can get along nicely. I do not ask you to climb up 
to me, but I ask you to climb with me. I shall offer no 
prizes ; I think you will work just as well without, and I 
should feel so sorry for those who failed.” 

The little figure was trembling with suppressed excite- 
ment, and the brown eyes were eloquent with earnest 
pleading ; but each scholar was hers to command from 
that moment. During the intermission she played as one 
of them, but in the school -room she was the patient, help- 
ful teacher. 

Early in the winter Madie received a letter from Aggie 
Peyton. “ Your house is occupied,” she wrote. “It does 
seemwso strange not to see you there. I just tease papa 
all the time to sell and move out where you are.” 

“ It makes me homesick to hear that. I don’t like to 
think of strangers in that house, do you, Madie?” asked 
Christa. 

“Yes, I had rather think of the old home as being full 
of people as it used to be, than to remember it as we left 
it ; no curtains at the windows, no warmth anywhere. I 
believe I am glad that someone is living there for the 
house's sake.” 

Mr. Burton looked at his daughter as if she had gained 
new interest in his eyes, and smiled kindly without reply- 


70 


jack’s afire. 


ing. He was a man who expressed very little affection 
for his children. Having been brought up with the un- 
derstanding that all show of love and tender feeling was 
silly, he often failed to understand his impulsive, affec- 
tionate children. 

Little six-year-old Benjie was hardly satisfied with the 
notice his father gave him, so, one evening, he made up 
his mind to get acquainted. When Mr. Burton took his 
book and seated himself before the fire, Benjie took a few 
steps toward him and said, “ Papa, I can talk about ever 
so many things.” 

“ Can you? ” said his papa absently. 

“ Yes; ” coming a little nearer. “ Pll tell you a nice 
story about a little boy and his papa, and his papa ’ud say, 

‘ come here, little boy, and talk with your own papa,’ and 
the boy corned, and he laid down his book an’ his paper, 
and talked, lots of times, and they got real good acquainted. 
Say, papa, why don’t you?” He was close beside his 
father. Mr. Burton, still holding his book, was becoming 
interested. “ This papa liked his little boy very much, 
and the boy was consider’ ble younger than his father, but 
he talked right along, and wasn’t a bit afraid to say he ‘loved 
him fifteen dollars.’ And his papa would take him up 
every time and kiss him, ’cause he had lots of kisses right 
on his lips. Say, papa, why don’t you? He’d go out and 
call his papa, and he’d answer, ‘ Here I am, dear,’ just as 

nice. Ain’t that a nice story? And he ” but the 

rest of the story was unfinished, unless it crept down into 
the heart through the lips of each member of the f&mily, 
who kissed him in turn. 

This story had a wholesome effect on Mr. Burton. Al- 
though it took a number of years for him to grow really 
familiar with his children, he often, after this, spent a 
short time early in the evening with Bert and Benjie. 

“ How would it do to read aloud these winter even- 
ings, Bell? Madeline and Christabel ought to be 
able to understand and read with us,” Mr. Burton 
said. 

“I should like it,” said his wife. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


71 


“We slioiild, too. We could have a reading club all by 
ourselves,” said Madie. 

All through the winter they read, at least an hour each 
evening, stopping to explain, if explanation was necessary, 
and discussing the subject, when the reading was finished. 
If there were any items to be thoroughly remembered or 
looked up, a blank book was provided for the purpose, 
and many a beautiful quotation and item of interest was 
transferred to its white pages. In this manner the corner 
stone of broad culture for two young minds was laid 
in that settler’s cabin on the western frontier. 

School closed in the spring, and the people were so well 
satisfied, that Madie was asked to preside over the new 
school building during the summer. 

Her sheep prospered, and grew, and roamed. Whenever 
she made her appearance, the whole flock would gather 
around her. Someone told her that sheep needed a 
change, so she drove them from one field to another, until 
they would stay nowhere for long at a time. One morn- 
ing, shortly after school commenced, as the teacher was 
engaged in explaining a problem, she heard one of the 
little ones say, “ I guess that must be a pack of wolves 
coming.” She glanced from the window and saw her 
“personal property.” She went to the door and was met 
by a joyous bleating. “ Poor ‘ Mary,’ I wonder if she 
was mortified when her ‘lamb’ appeared,” she solilo- 
quized. These sheep did not propose to “wait patiently 
about till Madie did appear,” so Bert was sent home with 
them. It was some time, however, before the school set- 
tled into its usual quiet. 

It is one of the unexplainable mysteries, that the exer- 
cise of the vocal organs of a cow, a horse, a sheep, a chicken 
or any domestic animal — sounds they have been accus- 
tomed to all their lives — should so completely upset the 
dignity of scholars in a country school. The sound of 
whistle and gong will not disturb any room filled with 
city juveniles, but the smallest bantam’s crow will cause 
every boy and girl, in a rural school-room, to double 
with suppressed merriment, while a squirrel on the 


72 jack’s afire, 

fence will cinse nearly as great a disturbance as a cy- 
clone. 

Shortly after this, wool began to drop, and wolves and 
dogs to rise. “ They seemed to know the mark,” Madie 
would say when relating the story afterward, “ and when 
a wolf grew hungry, he would make his way to our flock 
and single out a sheep with a hole in the left ear. I fed 
out what mutton I had, but I never cared to invest in 
sheep again. ‘ Pulled wool ’ did not bring the first price 
in the market.” 

When the summer term closed, Madie went to her par- 
ents and laid before them the plan she had cherished for 
a year. “ I have saved my wages and will have enough 
to send Christa and me to school next year.” 

“ I do not like to have you take your money, ” said Mr. 
Burton. “ I wish I could afford to pay the expenses of 
both, but we will have barely enough to provide the neces- 
saries for the family. I had so little left after paying 
that note. Next year if crops are good I can send Christ- 
abel. You had better use your money for yourself.” 

“But, papa, if you would let her go, I would not be so 
homesick. That is, if mamma can spare both of us.” 

“ I will talk with your mother, and if this seems the 
best way to both of us, I will accept your offer, but re- 
member it is only a loan.” 

The talk with mother resulted in the acceptance of 
Madie’ s offer. “ It will do her no harm to carry out her 
generous impulses. We can make it all up to her some- 
time, Frank.” 

“ I intend to do that, but it hurts my manhood to have 
her working thus for the family.” 

“It ought not. If she were a son instead of a daugh- 
ter, she would help to carry on the farm, and if she 
chooses to lend assistance in some other way, she ought 
to be allowed to do it. It is good for a girl to be inde- 
pendent. I am anxious to have her educated.” 

“So am I; but the boys must be thought of. A man in 
these days should be a collegiate.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


73 


“ Oh, Frank, I am afraid yon are narrow in your ideas 
of girls ! It seems to me that the mothers of a nation 
should be as thoroughly informed as the fathers. If there 
is one sentence more than another that I dislike to hear, 
it is, “ Go to your father, child, I don’t know anything 
about it!” Children copy the mistakes of others, and 
who is patterned after so much as a mother ? Many boys 
pay little heed to a mother’s teachings, as they grow older, 
because they feel themselves so much better posted than 
she is. I want to have my daughters become earnest, 
thoughtful women.” 

“Strong-minded,” he said, half questioningly. 

“Yes, indeed, never a weak-mhid.Q& daughter for me.” 

Mr. Burton smiled at the enthusiasm of the little woman 
and concluded the conversation by saying: “ Well, Bell, 
I am willing to have my wife and daughters stand as high 
and be as cultured as any women in the land.” 

Ere the summer had ended, a little stranger came and 
knocked at the door of each heart, and all bade her enter. 
They gravely discussed a name, and finally decided to 
call her Josephine. 

“ Oh, dear !” said Bert, wringing his hands. “It’s a 
girl again. If she had been a boy, she would have been 
a great deal of help.” 

“Well done, my son,” said his mother laughing. ‘‘You 
have learned already to hum the tune that others sing 
about the opposite sex.” 

“We’ll have to manage, dear little sister,” said Christa, 
bending over the little one. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Crowan. “It seems hardly right to 
kill her if she is a girl.” 

Mrs. Crowan was a very capable woman ; handy every- 
where. Life was a difficult problem, but she had begun 
with the calm determination to solve it. She had an 
opinion on every subject, and if her husband did not at 'first 
quite agree with her, he had such unbounded faith in her 
as being a “master hand at calculatin’” that he readily 
adopted her ideas and plans. She amused Mrs. Burton 
greatly in her free, outspoken way. 


74 


jack’s afire, 


“I was taught to think it was awful to be an old maid, 
so I married the first one that asked me; that was John, 
and we’ve got along first-rate. We’ve seen some real 
hard times, and we’ve seen a number of good ones, too. 
A life all sunshine is like a funeral without tears, kind o’ 
out of place. Now, for my part, when I go to a funeral, I 
like to see folks cry, it’s what you expect. You didn’t go 
to Charlie Slater’s wife’s, she that was Lizzie Bolton, 
funeral, did you?” 

“No,” Mrs. Burton replied. 

“ That was the cheerfulest funeral I ever attended. I 
never did see folks seem to enjoy a real good rest as much as 
they did. Liz was dressed up the best she ever was. You 
know old Mrs. Green, don’t you?” Mrs. Burtonnodded. “She 
always turns out to funerals, she has just the kind of look 
that does real well in such a place. She got there too 
late to get in where the mourners was, so when I came 
out she clutched onto my arm and says she ‘ how did they 
seem to take it ? ’ I was that mad at her that I just snapped 
out ‘they haven’t taken it at all yet, and I wouldn’t 
either, if I was in their places, before folks that come to 
a funeral as they would go to a circus, to see them in the 
ring perform.’ I don’t know as I ought to have answered 
her in that way. I am sure it ain’t the kind of conversa- 
tion laid down in a book of etiquette, but ‘rules for good 
society’ won’t always work; a body has to be thrown back 
on her own resources pretty often. If people fail to ask 
questions by rule, I’d like to know how anyone is going 
to answer by rule. Lizzie wasn’t such an extra woman, 
to be sure, but she’d have had to been a good deal worse 
not to be good enough for Charlie Slater. She never had 
anything extra while she was living, but she had a big 
funeral. Lots of folks went there out of curiosity, and in 
my opinion, if she wasn’t good enough to associate with 
when living, they had no business to go there after she 
was dead, just as Mrs Green did ‘ to see how they’d take 
it.’ 

“ I told John going home, ‘ Now you see Charlie will 
marry some real nice girl. I don’t believe there is a man 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


75 


in this world, low enough and mean enough, not to get a 
real nice girl for a wife if he really makes up his mind to.” 

Mrs. Crowan stopped to take breath and twist up her 
hair. Like the woman in one of Dicken’s novels, she “was 
always winding herself up by her back hair.” When shebe- 
came excited her hair did not “stand on end,” but her 
hairpins did, which amounted to about the same thing. 

“ If Mrs. Crowan’ s hair wasn’t fastened at one end it 
would all fly away,” Benjie whispered to Madie one day, 
when that lady was busily talking. 

“ He’ll fool some real good, steady girl, see if he don’t,” 
pushing the last hairpin in place and continuing the con- 
versation. “When girls get to be as particular in choos- 
ing a husband as men are in choosing a wife, there’ll be a 
different lot of people in this world, and ‘ social evils’ — 
polite name for low down meanness — will be done away 
with. Whenever I hear of people kicking a woman for 
anything, I want to run and kick a man three times as far 
for doing the same thing. That may not be a very lady- 
like expression, but I declare I believe it is womanly, and 
I like this word a good deal better than I do the other. 
In fashion magazines we read of ‘ what ladies are wear- 
ing in the Bible we read of what women were. The 
idea of describing the mother of Jesus as a ‘ very lady- 
like person ! ’ 

“I’m bringing up my daughters to believe that men 
and women are equally accountable before the laws of 
both God and man, and if they make any exceptions, to 
make it in favor of the woman every time. If every 
mother would do that, it would soon put a stop to lots of 
men’s deviltry. I expect you think I’ve expressed myself 
strongly on this subject, but I had a sister once, and on 
her wedding day she put her little white hand into the 
hand of a ' gentleman,'' so the tailors said, but there was no 
manhood about him. His hand was white enough, but 
his soul was as black as that stove. He broke her heart 
and now he has married another respectable woman, and 
yet she has been trained to false notions, or something is 
lacking in her brain or her conscience, for the only thing 


7G 


jack’s afire, 


she said when told of his work was: ‘Well, boys will 
be boys and men will be men the world over.’ If she has 
her heart broken, too — and she will if she’s got any — I 
can’t feel quite as sorry for her as I would if she had not 
made that remark.” 

‘‘I believe,” said Mrs. Burton, “that if boys were 
brought up as carefully as girls, they would be a great 
deal better than they are. There isn’t much difference in 
the cradle. People say things before even young boys 
that they would not before little girls. And many parents 
allow their sons to go to places where they would not think 
of permitting their daughters to venture near.” 

“ That’s it exactly. My brofcher-in-law was one of the 
kind of men whose every action seemed to say, ‘ I don’t 
see how any woman could so stand in her own light as to 
refuse me, if I should offer myself.’ I’d have been glad to 
have had him popped the question to me. The surprise on 
his countenance would have done me ever so much good. 
I suppose I wasn’t his style. He wasn’t mine, either, and 
I wanted him to understand it. The trouble of it all was, 
he was too handsome ; he thought he could get most any- 
thing in the matrimonial market just because of that. 
Like I’ve seen folks at auction, put in one good article 
with a lot of poor truck and pass ’em all off for a good 
price. If some accident had happened to him, and marred 
his beauty when he was young, he might have been quite 
a man. John Crowan looks a great deal better to me 
than he ever did. John isn’t such a bad looking man 
when he’s dressed up, and he’s got the honestest face I 
ever see. I was a regular idiot not to have liked him 
better when I married him, but a lot of old women kept 
saying, ‘ Lizy, you’ll be an old maid if you don’t look out,’ 
and I — like any other simpleton of twenty, that has never 
had no better training — got scared. But I have never 
been very sorry, and if my girls do as well as their 
mother did, there’s one, at least, who’ll be satisfied. I’m 
not going to talk to ’em about it, for I don’t believe in 
putting such thoughts into their heads. They’ll come 
quick enough. I do want ’em to be as careful in 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


77 


selecting a husband, as they would be in picking out a 
dress. Lot’s of ’em ain’t, though. They examine the 
goods to see if it is all wool, and are particular about the 
shade, and study on it for quite a while ; but for a hus- 
band they take what they can get, and lots of times it’s a 
mighty poor article.’' 

‘•Weren’t you ever in love when you were young?” 
asked Madie, who had been, with her mother, an interested 
listener to the one-sided conversation. 

“Yes, and had the chicken-pox, measles, whooping- 
cough, and mumps, lived through them all, thanks to a 
wise mother and a good constitution. Here, let me take 
the baby! ” and twisting her hair with one hand, she laid 
the little one on her knees and patted it with the other. 

“ You don’t believe in the oak and vine, then? ” said 
Mrs. Burton, anxious to hear what Mrs. Crowan would 
say next. 

“ Well, yes; if you can get an oak, but you can’t always 
be sure. For my part, I like to see a woman stand straight 
up for herself, ready to help or be helped when it is 
necessary. No two people ever lived together that didn^t 
have lots to bear from each other, and it’s best to begin 
with that understanding. No need of praising up matri- 
mony too much; it ain’t all heaven, no more than any- 
thing else. I’ve seen the day I’ve wished myself single just 
for a minute, and I guess the most of us have, if we’d be 
honest and say so, but that’s, the way with every path we 
walk in this world; there’ll come times when we wish we’d 
taken another. Madie, you’re getting them gathers too 
full, I’m afraid.” Madie brought her work forward for 
inspection, and Mrs. Crowan was soon as deeply interested 
in the hang of that skirt as she had been in the discussion 
of matrimony. She never did things by halves, and was 
never known to “ halt between two opinions.” She either 
stood for or against on every question. 

“ Benjie, my son, don’t make such a noise. You will 
drive Mrs. Crowan wild,” said his mother. The little 
boy had overturned the chairs and was playing he was 
“ a wild Indian out on the prairie,” 


78 


jack’s afibe, 


“Never you mind,” interposed Mrs. Crowan. “I don't 
care how much noise a child makes if it’s only a good- 
natured noise. I can’t bear to see them fight. I always 
want to interfere then. I’ve seen folks scold children 
for laughing, and get them to crying, and then settle 
back contentedly, as if they’d done their duty, and got 
them under good control. I’d rather hear laughing than 
crying any time. Folks don’t seem to care as much as 
they ought to about a child’s feelings. When I was real 
small, a presiding elder used to come to our house, and 
one time he took me on his knee, and said to the minister 
who was there : ‘ She is a nice little girl, but decidedly 

plain. Her features are so very irregular.’ Some way his 
talk wasn’t real comforting. I don’t believe he thought I 
would understand him. I slipped down and went to the 
looking-glass. I wondered if everyone would notice how 
homely I was. The minister patted me on the head and 
said: ‘You’ll grow up to be a nice, good woman, I have 
no doubt, and that will be better than beauty.’ I could 
not help wondering if I would be as good as I would have 
been if I had been better looking. I was scarcely five 
years old then; but that man’s words made me shy and 
awkward before strangers for years after they were said. 
Animals and children know a good deal more than folks 
give ’em credit for knowing.” 

September was hurrying toward them, and the girls 
were busily engaged in preparation, for they were to enter 
school in a short time. How the children watched the 
unfolding of the little human bud that was planted in their 
midst. Her first smile — when a dimple found a resting 
place in her little round cheek — was hailed with delight. 
J osie was the center of attraction, morning, noon and night. 

“ Mamma, I believe I have thought more this year than 
I ever did back in the old house. Do you suppose I would 
have done so if I had stayed there? ” 

“ I do not know, Madie ; but I believe that migration 
is necessary to grow ideas ; thoughts, like trees, become 
rooted if allowed to remain in one place always.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


79 


“What makes you so sober?” 

“ I think I am being sorry for myself in advance. I 
shall be very lonely when both my little daughters are 
gone away. I am trying to realize that you are almost 
young ladies. It isn’t the mere act of going away to 
school that causes me to think soberly, but it is the first 
break in our little family. Home will never be quite the 
same to you again. You will want to teach or have some 
other plan in regard to yourselves and us. I cannot keep 
you children, neither do I wish it ; but, girlies, I want you 
both to remember, as you grow up, not to grow away, too, 
and think of this as my dearest wish: I want you to tell 
mamma everything.'’’’ 

“We will always,” they promptly replied. And they 
did. No incident so trivial in their lives that mrmma 
was not greatly interested in its recital. 

One evening, when Madie was writing to Ned and 
Ealph, and the shadows had crept in between her and the 
paper, she turned to the window in time to hear her 
brothers call for “ all to come and see the movers.” The 
two wagons came on slowly. 

“Mamma, they are going to stop here,” called 
Christa. 

Ere an answer could be given, a girl sprang from the 
first wagon and bounded toward Madie. “ Oh, you 
dear darling, don’t you know me?” 

“Aggie! ” was all she could say; and the entire famil}^ 
went out to meet their old friends, the Peytons. 

In eager questions and answers of the old home, and 
old friends, the evening passed. “It is so nice to see 
someone from home,” said Christa, who had suffered 
more from homesickness than all the rest. 

“I hope you will settle near us; it will seem so very 
nice to have you to talk to,” and Madie embraced her 
friend again. 

“ Those girls have begun their friendship right where 
they left off; I wish older people could always do that. 
But how much taller Aggie is than Madie.” 

“I am mamma’s girl,” said Madie, when Mrs. Peyton 


80 


jack’s afire. 


ceased speaking. “ I presume I never will be very tall.” 

“Do you remember ” Aggie began. 

Christa laughed merrily. “I wonder ho’w many times 
each one has begun a sentence in that way ! ” 

“ I was going to ask Madie,” Aggie went on, smiling 
at Christa’s remark, “ if she remembered Phil’s deciding 
and undeciding about a profession? ” 

“ Indeed, I do. It was while mamma was East, and he 
talked to you and me a long time one evening, and fin- 
ished by saying: ‘Well, girls, I don’t believe in invest- 
ing very heavily in confidential stock, but sometimes I 
take all the shares I can, when with friends, and I am 
sure they will stand at par.” 

“ That was why I spoke of it to-night; we were all 
growing so confidential over our reunion,” Aggie said, 
putting her arm lovingly around her friend. 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH, 


81 


CHAPTEE X. 

THE TORCH IS LIGHTED. 

At twilight the next evening, Madie, seated by the win- 
dow, was rocking her little sister, and listening to the 
voices around her. “ Dont you know how to play it? 
W ell. I’ll tell you. Take a stick and set fire to one end 
of it ; the rest of us will sit down in a row. I’ll take the 
stick and hold the lighted end up, and pass it on to the 
next one, and he’ll pass it on to the next, and so on till 
you get clear around. You must be careful and give it 
swing enough so that it will keep burning, for whoever 
has it in his hand when it goes out will be judged and 
have a forfeit to pay ; and when you hand it to the next, 
if it’s burning, you must cry ‘Jack’s afire! ’ Do you un- 
derstand ? ” 

Grant Peyton is explaining a new game to Bert and 
Benjie. 

“ Bert answers: “ Yes, I understand.” 

And Bert’s echo says: “ Course we do.” 

“All right, then, get a stick and we will play. Come 
girls,” as Aggie and Christa made their appearance, “you 
can play, too.” Eobert, coming along just then, did 
not deem it beneath his dignity to join with the others, 
and the game went on merrily. 

Well, yes; I expect to give my boys a good education, 
and when they are twenty-one, I hope to be able to give them 
a start in whatever profession or line of business they may 
choose to follow. I shall begin in a few years to give 
them an allowance, that they may learn the value of money.” 

“And the girls, Mr. Burton, what are your plans in re- 
gard to them ? ” 

“ They are going to school for the next year, anyway. 
Madeline has almost taken care of herself ever since we 
came West. I shall try to dress them as well as my 
neighbors’ daughters, or as well as I ean afford to, and 


82 


jack’s afike, 


after a time, when the right man comes along, I want to 
have enough, so that they need not go away from the 
home nest empty-handed. I haven’t prospered lately, 
and farm work is beginning to tell on me. I can’t stand 
as much as I once could. If Madeline were a boy, I 
would soon have someone to lean upon.” This conver- 
sation is borne to Madie’s ears on the sweet night air, 
from the front steps where her father and Mr. Peyton are 
seated. 

“ I told my husband that we could stop and make you a 
visit, and prospect a little, and if there were a good open- 
ing in the village, we could locate there. Robert has 
spent the last two years in school; he doesn’t care to study 
a profession and will go right in with his father. It 
doesn’t make much difference where we spend the rest of 
our days. Aggie and Grant will be in school for a few 
years longer. If they do not get more mischief than 
book learning into their heads, I shall be mistaken. I 
sometimes half agree with Mrs. Carter, that the world is 
growing worse all the time, and wonder why a Christian 
ever smiles.” 

“ There, Mrs. Peyton, you are tired to-night and the 
world looks gray; but the sun will shine to-morrow, so that 
you can feel it way down in your heart. It isn’t religion 
that makes us blue; it may be doubt or indigestion, but 
never attribute it to the grace of God. The thought of 
the Home just beyond should make us brighter and hap- 
pier always. I am real glad that you have come, and I 
hope you will locate in Clayton. Mr. Peyton will be a 
great deal of comfort to Prank, who will feel encouraged 
to have his old neighbor so near him. He has had to 
Avork pretty hard, and has not received much benefit from 
his labor; that is always discouraging, you knoAv. He 
is ambitious to help our sons, and has to depend entirely 
upon hired help ; it costs so much to carry on a farm. If 
our eldest Avere a son, she could go right on with the 
work, and see to things out of doors.” This last dialogue 
comes from the kitchen, where the two mothers are Avork- 
ing and visiting. 


OE, THE BUKTON TORCH. 


83 


Madie bends over her little sister, sleeping so quietly, 
and says softly: “ Poor little girl, yon are one of the un- 
fortunates, too. I’ve played eaves-dropper to the proving 
of the old adage, twice to-night ; I never knew before that 
mamma blamed me for being a girl!” a little sadly. 
“ The amount of it all is this: Josie, if I were a boy, I’d 
be a blessing and a help, as it is, I am only a stumbling 
block in the way of helping my brothers. That heathen 
country I read of the other day, where they kill off the 
girl babies, must be a little in advance of our civilization. 
They don’t kill them here, but feed them and cloth them, 
and let them feel their dependence. Do girls really 
amount to so little, I wonder? Ought we to be obliged 
to ask for every penny? Why can’t we be helped when 
we are twenty-one? We must wait until we marry and 
then our husbands are to receive a premium for taking us 
off their hands. I have too much self-respect to permit 
such a bargain to be made. If we never marry, I suppose 
we are never to receive anything ; and then they laugh at 
woman’s frivolity and extravagance! How can we be ex- 
pected to know the value of money ? I am determined to 
try and do as well as the brother in whose place I stand. 
It is the old story of David Copperfield’s sister, reversed.” 

“Jack’s afire! there, not one of us was judged! 
Christa came very near letting it go out ; girls hardly 
ever give it swing enough. Come and see me feed my 
Jack rabbits, I’ve got four of them;” and Bert leads the 
way to the barn. 

The brand is burning itself out on the ground. Madie 
looks at it absently; all at once a thought comes to her 
like an inspiration. “ No one was judged,” she said mus- 
ingly. “Here I am, the oldest of the Burton family, and 
although I am only a girl, I am bound to keep that torch 
burning, which was lighted by my ancestors when 

‘ The breaking waves dashed high ; ’ 

for of course they came over in the Mayflower. No 
one who makes any pretensions to respectability ever had 
ancestors come over in any other ship. It is in my hands 


84 


JACK S AFIEE, 


now; I want to give it swing enough, so that when I 
hand it to the next, I will have no ‘forfeit to pay.’ ” 

“Why, Madie,” said Christa, “have you been holding 
Josie all this time?” 

“Yes, dear, and I’ve been giving myself a severe 
thinking, too; I will put Josie in her crib, and then will 
tell you all about it.” 

“What was your ‘think’ about?” Christa asked, when 
they had reached their room. 

Madie briefly told what she had heard and thought. 
“Christa, help me to do this work, so that at the last we 
can cry, ‘ J act’s Afire ! ’” 

“ I think we can manage,” was Christa’s characteristic 
reply. 

Madie’ s sixteenth birthday came. “I am going to 
have a party, mamma, and the guests are all here, with- 
out sending out invitations,” she said gaily. “I do wish 
Mrs. Crowan could come.” 

“So do I,” said Christa. 

“Is she that little, black-eyed, energetic woman we met 
the other day?” inquired Robert Peyton. 

“Yes,” answered Madie, and then stopped. 

“Somehow, I never can think of anything to say to 
him,” she remarked to Christa, when they were doing up 
the morning’s work. 

“Why, Madie, how queer that is; I can talk to him just 
as easily as I can to Aggie ; I think he is a nice man. He 
seems to think I know a little and listens to what I have 
to say as much as to the others.” The subject of this 
conversation, quietly walking outside, heard and smiled 
to himself. 

When the work was done, Madie went in search of her 
father. Christa looked after her with a world of sympa- 
thy on her round, dimpled face. She knew her sister 
was making an effort to draw nearer to this parent. 
She found him in the little room that the family used for 
reading and study, but which could hardly be dignified by 
the name of library. “Papa,” she.said, going up to him, 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


85 


her heart beating so that she could scarcely control her 
voice, “do you know that I am sixteen years old to-day?” 

“So you are, Madeline; I am sorry I cannot afford to 
make you a present,” he said kindly. 

“ That isn’t what I came here for. I don’t care for any 
gift. I came to tell you that I am anxious to do the best 
I can, if I am a girl. I’ll try so hard to be as much help 
to you as a son would be, if you’ll only tell me where and 
when I can do so. Dear papa, I should be so glad to be 
of some use to you, and if you would only try and like me 
as well as that hoy, it would make me very happy.” The 
tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

“ My daughter, I do like you as well as any of my chil- 
dren,” stroking her hair awkwardly. “But you must not 
be troubled with business matters. See, it is making me 
gray ! I do not want my little girl to become a careworn 
woman right away.” Madie had not noticed before how 
thickly the silver threads were beginning to show in her 
father’s dark hair, nor how deeply the years had scored 
themselves on his forehead. 

She made another attempt. “I don’t want to be bold 
or presuming, papa ; but I have thought that something 
was troubling you, and maybe I could help to drive it 
away. Have you any plan concerning Christa and I, that 
we could help you carry out?” 

“None, dear, only that each may become a good, true 
woman. Isn't that enough ? ” 

“Yes, papa; that is a good deal. But you have plans 
for the boys and teach them to be independent, and strong, 
and brave. I thought perhaps you might — or that is, I 

didn’t know but you might ” Her voice died away and 

she folded and unfolded her handkerchief nervously 

“Well, well, Madeline; boys, you see, — why boys grow 
to be men ! ” and as if that were a convincing argument, he 
turned to the roll of papers he had been examining when 
she entered. 

Disappointed and sorrowful, she went to her room. 
“Girls grow to be women, and we will see what a woman 
can do ! ” she said firmly. 


86 


jack’s afire, 


Aggie came up presently. “May I come in and visit?” 

“Yes, dear. I have neglected you shamefully to-day. 
But this is the only sixteenth birthday I shall ever have, 
and I have had a number of things to do.” 

They sat down and talked busily for a time. “Bob and 
Christa have gone after Mr. and Mrs. Crowan and family.” 

“That was very kind of them,” said Madie earnestly. 
She always appreciated a kindness. “Aggie!” 

“Well!” 

“ I havQ been dreading to ask, but do you know any- 
thing about Star?” 

“Oh, Madie, I wish you hadn’t asked me! She died 
last spring.” 

The girl tried bravely to keep back the tears, but they 
would come. “I thought I could buy her back some day,, 
but I presume I never could have done so.” 

Aggie was lovingly sympathetic. “Let us go and see 
Leon, he is always so glad to have you come to him.” 
They went to the barn together and on their return found 
Mrs. Crowan fanning herself vigorously with her shaker. 

“So you are ‘sweet sixteen’ to-day, Madie.” 

“Yes, I am sixteen. But it does not seem as if I had 
been fifteen for a whole year.” 

“ You’ll find out that each year gets shorter as you 
grow older, as if all the years that had gone by was a 
pushin’ it along.” John Crowan looked proudly at his 
wife, and then at the others, as if to say, “she knows 
just what to say and when to say it,” and she in her quaint 
way really amused them all. 

“ I like her,” said grave Bobert Peyton. “ She is one of 
the most original persons I ever saw.” 

“I knew you would think so,” said Christa, her face 
glowing with pleasure. “And her visit has done Madie 
ever so much good.” 

The little girls, Mattie and Alice Crowan, were out in 
the yard with the little boys, playing “hide and seek;” 
so the day was enjoyed by all, and Madie’ s “party” was 
a success. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


87 


Mr. Peyton’s family were settled in Clayton, and Madie 
and Christa were to board with them while at school. 
The two older girls in the same classes, with Christa one 
year behind. Prot. Pearce soon came to know uhat no 
task was too hard, nor lesson too long, for Madie to mas- 
ter. So much more eagerly does one work when there is 
an object in view! And the little “Torch” blazed all 
winter. 


88 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XI. 

MORE THAN “TWO TO MAKE A BARGAIN.” 

The snow was falling rapidly. Mrs. Grenall laid aside 
her knitting and walked to the window to look out on the 
blinding storm. She was evidently looking for someone. 
A boy came bounding in; looking at him, his aunt 
began to realize that there had been something pleasant 
in the afternoon, which she had not discovered until she 
saw it reflected in the child’s face. “Harry, have you 
seen your sister?” 

“No, auntie. I think she must be at the church yet.” 

“I wish she would come, the storm is growing worse 
every moment.” 

As she said this her husband entered, bringing with 
him the object of her solicitude. “Dear me, Sada! I 
have worried about you all the afternoon. I know you 
will have a severe cold, after this exposure.” 

“Oh, auntie, you are too easily worried. A little 
roughing once in a while does me good.” She removed 
her wraps and sat down to relate the progress of the re- 
hearsal. 

Sada Lee has not changed much in these two years. 
She has the sort of face that twenty years will not alter 
beyond recognition. Her stay with her relatives has 
been pleasant and peaceful. She and her little brother have 
never been made to feel that they were with any but their 
own. There is a difference between being away from 
home and feeling away from home. Her uncle and aunt 
were not demonstrative in their affections, but they were 
genuine. Sada, quiet and reserved herself, understood 
and was content. 

Mr. Grenall was wealthy, and a trifle “purse proud.” 
He was kind and generous to the orphans, because of real 
affection for them, besides, they helped him to exhibit his 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


89 


wealth and to stand well in the opinion of his fellows. 
He was a man who loved to do his duty, but he was 
anxious that others should know that he did it. His wife 
was a kindly disposed woman, who had never ceased to be 
grateful to him for choosing her, “ when he could have 
gotten anyone he had been a mind to ask^ If he had 
been the least particle ambitious, he would have been 
president long ago, for he is a man who makes friends 
wherever he goes,” she frequently said with a proud smile 
that defied contradiction. 

A great lover of patent medicine ; at the slightest symp- 
tom of illness in any member of the family, out came her 
huge box of remedies, and she prescribed freely. She 
frequently enjoyed poor health herself, and was alarm- 
ingly frank with an invalid, giving her diagnosis of the 
case, and the doubt of recovery, as readily as if it were 
the most exhilarating news that could be given. There 
was no one in that great city who dispensed charity with 
a more liberal hand than this fussy little woman. Help- 
ing the poor and visiting the sick was the one great so- 
lace for the loss of her two brave sons. 

“ The decorations are even prettier than they were last 
year,” said Sada, “and the carols are beautiful.” 

“How is Miss Marvin?” Mrs. Grenall enquired. 

“ She is still very hoarse, and sent word to-day that she 
would not be able to sing that duet with me. She has 
found a substitute, a Miss Hattie Burton. She is Madie’s 
own cousin, and is visiting here. She tells me that her 
people are coming to live here directly after New Years.” 

“Does she sing her part well?” 

“ She has a good voice and it is highly cultivated, but 
it does not express very much feeling.” She added laugh- 
ingly: “Here I am, verifying Prof. Venley’s words, 
that ‘ singers fail to mete out justice to each other, and 
are apt to detect any flaw in a voice, and tell of it imme- 
diately, so one seldom sees a peaceable church choir or a 
united company of vocalists.’ I can’t see why it should 
be so!” 

“I do not know, I am sure,” said Mrs. Grenall, in a 


90 


JACK^S AFIRE, 


tone that proved she had not given the subject any 
thought. She simply gave this union of words followed 
by a full pause,” because she considered some remark 
necessary. 

“ The girls told me to-day that Miss Burton was engaged 
to Mr. Lawrence,” said Sada. 

“ She will be mistress of a handsome home. The post- 
man left these letters for you, and I had quite forgotten 
them.” 

Sada took them from her aunt, and called to her brother, 
“ Come here, Harry, and listen to what Madie writes of 
Bert and Benjie : ‘ They are both studying at home this 

winter, and speak of Harry often. They are counting the 
days until Christmas, and have thought of a number of 
impossible things to give to all their friends. I don’t 
know but I am about as impracticable as they are, as I 
would like to be wealthy enough to purchase a Christmas 
gift for all the people I know and love, and for all the 
others who are likely to have none.’ ” 

“She will never be wealthy with that disposition,” said 
Mr. Grenall, who had laid down his paper to listen to the 
letter. “ She is at school, is she not?” 

“Yes, and I presume she is doing nicely; although 
nearly three years younger than I, she was nearly as far 
advanced when I last saw her. She used to write the 
sweetest little compositions, and the stories she used to tell 
to Harry and her little brothers were so entertaining and 
real.” 

Sada had been in school for two years, and was soon to 
be introduced to the social world about her. Self-possessed 
and womanly always, she would never “turn the heads” 
of the gay people with whom she mingled; but the firm 
mouth and luminous gray eyes would bring many to her 
side who were in search of a friendly, sympathetic listener ; 
a woman who would be ever welcome in a sick room, and 
little children would turn and look at her, as if they knew 
by some subtle intuition that she were their friend. Not 
given to either extreme of mirth or sadness, she carried a 
restful, peaceful feeling to those with whom she associated. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


91 


“Who was your other letter from?” Harry enquired, 
when she had read Madie’s letter a second time. 

'"’Perhaps Sada doesn’t care to answer that question,” 
his aunt said quietly. 

Harry did not propose to let the matter drop. With 
all the inquisitiveness of childhood, he began to guess. 
After he had named a number of improbable correspond- 
ents to all but himself, he said: “Sada, it must have 
been from Ned!” 

Sada only laughed, and drawing the subject of the 
cross-examination from her pocket, where she had dropped 
it in the hope that she might escape to her room and read 
it unobserved, opened and perused it carefully. Mrs. 
Grenall seemed to think that the contents might be 
reflected on her niece’s face, and watched her closely as 
she read. “I am afraid,” thought she, “that Sada is 
really in love with that poor student! ” If he only could 
do for her as her uncle and I can, I should not mind. 
Poverty would come hard to her after living in luxury. 
Mr. Yonge is more than half in love with her now, and 
who knows what may happen before the winter is over?” 

Sada, thinking of the tender, hopeful words Ned had 
written, was too happy to notice the stillness. 

The Christmas entertainment was an unbounded suc- 
cess, and the ladies of the church were heartily congratu- 
lated. Sada and Hattie sang their duet, the rich melody 
floated over the congregation and many a note awoke a 
sweet echo in the hearts of the listeners. The stately 
blonde bowed slightly in recognition of the applause and 
took her seat in the audience, while Mr. Lawrence, portly 
and complacent, beamed upon her with such an air of 
proprietorship that Sada almost shuddered, and the other 
girls giggled and said, “what a good match it was!” and 
flirted with one and another of the attendant cavaliers, 
forgetting all about Bethlehem’s Star and the Shepherd, 
and the Babe in the manger. Later some went to a ball 
and celebrated the birth of Christ by dancing until near 
dawn, and those people, if asked to attend a hop on Sun- 


92 


jack’s afire, 


day, would look properly shocked and quote, “Remember 
the Sabbath day to keep it holy!” Would that someone 
might quote in return, “Consistency, thou art a jewel!” 

Mrs. Grenall and Sada called on Miss Burton. After 
she had kept them waiting for some time, she came 
slowly in and gave her hand in greeting, in the coldest, 
most approved style, then sank back in an easy-chair. 
After the inevitable weather had been discussed, Mrs. 
Grenall asked if this were her first visit to the city, and 
how she was enjoying it. She replied that she had never 
been in the city before, and was enjoying her stay 
very much indeed. 

“I enjoyed your singing the other evening,” said Mrs. 
Grenall. 

“I enjoyed every other number on the programme bet- 
ter. It would have been an absolute failure if it had not 
been for Miss Lee;” she inclined her head toward 
Sada in a stately manner. “ I am confident that I never 
did so poorly.” 

“It was very kind of you to lend your assistance to us. 
We all appreciated it,” Sada hastened to say. Then all 
sat smiling, trying to feel comfortable, and to think of 
another topic to introduce. 

“ My niece is very well acquainted with your uncle’s 
family.” 

“Is she, indeed!” with a slight uplifting of the eye- 
brows ; it was not well-bred to express great surprise at 
an^hing. “When did you last see them?” Sada 
briefly told of her stay with the Burtons. 

“I met my Uncle Benjamin and my Aunt Prudence two 
years ago. They, together with Aunt Bell, visited us. I 
think I remember Aunt Bell’s mention of you at that 
time, but I had quite forgotten the name. Father visited 
them last summer. He speaks highly of my cousins, but I 
should call them a trifle eccentric.” 

“They are very nice, sensible girls.” 

“Oh, I presume so,” agreeing with her in such an in- 
dolent way that Sada felt as if open contradiction would 
have been preferable. 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


93 


‘‘ I’ve heard Mrs. Carter speak of ‘ my niece Hattie,’ 
but she is even more stereotyped than I expected,” said 
Sada when they were returning homeward. “I wonder if 
she can be as happy as people are who do not act and talk 
by rule. Her life must be very insipid, auntie.” 

“I think she is quite a nice appearing young lady. Not 
overly cordial, to be sure, but she is very polite.” 

Sada, who was beginning to enjoy the change from 
that chilling presence to the bright winter sunshine, an- 
swered, “very polite.” 

“We will drive to the shops now, for I am very anxious 
to select your first party dress. I shall be very proud to 
introduce you to our society friends.” 

Miss Lee’s dehut was successfully made. Her aunt 
praised and petted her more than ever ; the gay world smiled 
upon and flattered her, and the one who was least interested 
was Sada herself. Mr. Yonge devoted himself to her 
from the first. He had arrived at an age and position 
that made it desirable for him to marry. “ Miss Lee was 
a sensible girl, who would not be opinionated. Grenall, 
her uncle, was a rich man. What else was necessary?” 
Thus reasoning, he grew daily more interested in this 
property he wished to possess. Mr. and Mrs. Grenall 
looked on and smiled, and helped it along, or tried to, 
with cautiously worded compliments for each in the pres- 
ence of the other. 

“I wish they would not say so much,” soliloquized 
Sada one evening. “I am afraid that I shall appear 
self-conscious before him. They act as if they thought 
that the marriage was to be an absolute certainty. I 
wonder what Ned would say,” she thought, abruptly 
changing not the subject but the subjects. 

One night, when Mr. Yonge was attending her home 
from the opera, Sada said, “ It was all so beautiful that I 
cannot find words to express myself.” 

“ Yes, I do not remember of ever seeing richer toil- 
ettes.” 

Sada, thinking only of the rich, rare melody, felt a dis- 
cord through it all, and said no more. 


94 


jack’s afire, 


On reaching her home he took her hand. “ Can I come 
to-morrow morning? I wish to speak to you.” 

Striving vainly to conquer the repugnance she felt, she 
answered, “Yes.” 

He said “Good night,” and walked back to the car- 
riage with the air of a business man who had made another 
wise venture. 

In her own room she turned and locked the door, as if 
she were afraid her very thoughts might escape. 

“ It must be that he means more than a mere call. Did 
I encourage him ? I couldn’t refuse him a simple request 
and I have never been more than quietly friendly with 
him.” Then a voice said: “Why not say yes? Your 
future will be assured. Many a girl would be glad of 
such an opportunity. You will be able to do so much for 
the poor. Do not be so romantically silly ! What reason 
can you give your uncle and aunt for such a decision?” 

But another voice was heard. “You promised to wait 
and you said you would ‘never forget.’ ” The young stu- 
dent, at that moment studying busily in his room at that 
Western University, did not know until years after, how 
nearly he had come to losing the woman whom he had 
loved and worked and waited for during all the years of 
his manhood. 

Mr. Yonge called. Mrs. Grenall, an interested ob- 
server, saw Sada’s troubled look. “Go in alone, my dear, 
and remember he is ‘ the catch of the season.’” 

“As if I were fishing with hook and line,” thought 
Sada, with superb contempt. 

Her visitor was silent after the first words of greeting. 
Somehow it was not as easy a matter to get through with as 
he had expected. “ Miss Lee, I presume you can imagine 
the reason of my coming to-day. I have a splendid home, 
or, that is, I deem you a splendid woman. Miss Lee. 
A woman in every way worthy to bear my name, and to 
do the honors of my house. I have enough of this 
world’s goods to provide for you handsomely, and I — 
why — really — I think a great deal of you.” For the man 
had begun to discover that there had been very little of 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


95 


the lover in his remarks. “ There is no other woman 
whom I esteem so highly. Miss Lee, when will you 
come to my heart and to my home?” 

Sada raised her hand before he had ceased speaking, 
but he was too deeply interested in his own words to no- 
tice it. “I am very sorry, Mr. Yonge, but the ‘ one thing 
needful ’ is lacking. I do not love you. If I were to 
marry you, it would be because of your wealth and posi- 
tion. A woman, who could be bought by a handsome 
home and property, would be little better than a slave. I 
could not maintain my self-respect after such a bargain, 
and 1 am afraid I should grow to hate you.” 

“Why, Miss Lee, I am really surprised. You have re- 
ceived my attentions, and I thought you were ” He 

stopped. 

“ I am sorry that you think I have encouraged you. I 
have received your attentions as I have those of others ; I 
cannot see, however, that I have been forward or presum- 
ing. I have not been the seeker of attention from any- 
one. When a woman is sought in society by an honest 
man, she can but return his courtesy with courteousness.” 

“ I beg your pardon, Miss Lee, you have been reserved 
and ladylike ; I am just a little hurt at your refusal, for I 
had really set my heart upon acceptance.” Taking her 
hand kindly, he said “ Good by,” and left the house. 

“ I never was more astonished in my life,” he mused, 
as he walked rapidly down town. “ I am mortified, too. 
That girl is almost a beggar. I hope she will not brag 
of this ; I could not bear the boring of the fellows at the 
club. I don’t believe she will, for she is one girl out of a 
thousand; I honestly believe she could make a man out 
of almost any fellow. I wonder if she isn’t in love with 
someone else? It can’t be any one in our set. She may 
live to see the day that she is sorry for this morning’s 
work.” 

Sada did not join her aunt until luncheon. In answer 
to the enquiring look, she said: “No, auntie, I could 
not wrong a man enough to marry him if I did not love 
him.” 


96 


jack’s afire, 


“ But he is so wealthy, Sada, and together we could 
have done so much for my poor,” she said pathetically. 

“We will try and help the poor a great deal, anyway; 
and, auntie, I shall try and make a home for myself when 
I am a trouble to you.” 

“ You will never be that, Sada;” and the subject was 
not mentioned again. 

Mr. Grenall was more greatly disturbed than his wife, 
still he said nothing. Any discussion made him uncom- 
fortable, and his one aim in life was to be comfortable and 
undisturbed. Sada’s life ran smoothly on. Meeting Mr. 
Yonge frequently, each tried so hard to greet the other 
in an unconstrained manner, that people began to notice 
and speculate, but, as there was nothing to feed their 
curiosity upon, it soon died away. 

One evening Sada overheard a conversation between 
two society leaders. “I wonder why Mr. Yonge ceased 
his attentions to Sada Lee ; she used to seem pleased with 
his company ; but he is quite infatuated with that little 
Miss Sewell.” 

“ I wonder, too, if Sada doesn’t feel badly to lose such 
a splendid chance.” Sada moved away, but the smile on 
her lips proved that she did not mind at all. Ned’s let- 
ters came weekly. Mrs. Grenall was loving and kind, and 
the world was as bright as ever. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


97 


CHAPTEE XII. 

THE TORCH BEGINS TO BLAZE A LITTLE. 

“I am getting to like Prof. Pearce real well,” said 
Christa one evening when the trio were discussing the 
school. “ At first I felt as if my hairpins were dancing a 
jig, he used to give me such dreadful looks when I could 
not get my problems.” 

“I like him, too, but really, girls, I’d like to see him 
cry just once ; because it would be a satisfaction to know 
whether he could or not. Now, Madie, we are waiting for 
your opinion.” 

“ He has a fine head. When I see him, I think of 
what Phil wrote about his professor in mental philoso- 
phy: ‘He is so scholarly, and looks so intellectual, that 
one could almost graduate looking at him.’ Phil’s letters 
sound just like him, don’t they?” 

“I think he is very original,” Aggie answered. “Here 
we have been talking for nearly an hour, and I have my 
composition yet to copy.” She took up her pen and be- 
gan to write rapidly. 

“I have not written a word of mine,” said Madie. She 
had been chosen by Prof. Pearce to hear a few of the lower 
classes, and through this effort was already laying plans 
to keep herself and Christa at school another year. The 
combined duties of pupil and teacher gave her little time 
for extra work. 

Seated in a low chair before the fire, she began to 
dream out her subject. “ You do not seem to be in any great 
haste to go to work,” said Christa. But her sister was 
too far away in dreamland to catch the sound of her voice. 
Yet, before she retired that night, the essay was written. 

There were a number of visitors present when the hour 
came for rhetorical work. Aggie and Christa went 
bravely through the ordeal. Madie, who had just dis- 

7 


98 


jack’s afike, 


missed a class, was called upon. She stepped to the front. 
When she had finished, Prof. Pearce reached for the 
essay. “How long did it take you to write this?” 

“I wrote it last evening.” 

“I cannot accept it,” he said, handing it back to her. 
“ You should allow your thoughts to crystalize. Write 
it over again, and we will hear it next week.” 

With burning cheeks, Madie took the paper and walked 
to her desk ; in her mortification, it seemed to her as if the 
aisle were a mile in length. A girl who had been her 
rival ever since she entered school, and was greatly en- 
raged when Madie was chosen assistant, tittered audibly 
as she passed. 

The essay was rewritten, and on the appointed day, 
Madie went forward to read it. She stood before the 
school, with her paper in hand, but strive as she would, 
not one word could she utter. She looked appealingly at 
the professor ; then at the paper ; the words swam before 
her eyes ; she shook her head, and her lips quivered pain- 
fully. “You may take your seat. Miss Burton.” She 
again sat down, feeling utterly crushed and humiliated; 
she struggled bravely, but the hot, bitter tears would come. 
Aggie leaned forward and laid her hand affectionately 
upon her friend’s arm. 

Prof. Pearce was surprised and troubled; he had not 
understood the girl’s nature. When the work for the day 
was completed, he said: “I have a word to say in re- 
gard to Madeline’s essay. I knew by the first hearing of 
it, that it had been hurriedly written, and because she 
could write easily, she was injuring her talent by writing 
rapidly. An essay is not enjoyable when the tone of it 
proves that the accent should be thrown on the last sylla- 
ble. A week ago Madie essayed to give us some beauti- 
ful thoughts, but many of the sentences were crude. I 
wished her to work it out for herself, that she might see 
the difference. That is, as you all know, what I conceive to 
be the difference between teaching and learning.” 

He called upon Madie that evening. “ I am very sorry 
that you misunderstood me. You mu^t think very meanly 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


99 


of me if you imagine that I did that to humiliate you be- 
fore the school.” 

“Please not to mention it at all, Prof. Pearce. I am 
so very sorry to think I acted so childishly.” 

•“I think, Madeline, that you have a talent in this di- 
rection, and one day I hope to see it used, for the benefit 
of yourself and others.” 

When he had gone Madie built a wonderful “castle 
in the air,” and, though it tottered many times, it never 
quite fell to the ground. “ Perhaps this is the way in 
which I may keep my Torch burning,” she said to herself 
triumphantly. 

Winter gave place to spring The bright June days 
came and opened the doors and windows wide. “ I be- 
lieve days have character and behavior as well as people. 
I like to have these days come and stay with us. To-day 
is the longest one of the whole year, but it hasn’t seemed 
half as long as some other days. I wonder where I have 
lost so much of it?” 

“Advertise for a day lost, Madie,” said Aggie, readily 
chiming in with her friend’s thoughts. 

“I have been a few hundred miles farther east and 
have wondered how our boys have done on the commence- 
ment stage. I have been with them in thought so much 
to-day.” 

“Then, if your day has been lost it has been 
through carelessness; if you had stayed at home and 
attended strictly to business, you would not now be 
mourning for lost hours,” said Aggie, with a happy little 
laugh. 

The next day, when Madie met her pupils in the class- 
room, she said brightly: “I want you to sit a moment 
and look out of the windows. If you haven’t noticed before 
how pretty the day is, you ought to see by her generous 
light, how beautiful the world is around you.” So they 
rested their hands and saw the shadows floating over the 
distant prairie, and felt the touch of the young summer, 
and a bit of gladness came up from each heart, and looked 


100 


jack’s afike, 


from the eye, and nestled around each childish mouth. 
“ I believe if they are taught to see the beautiful all 
around them, that they will not go very far astray. A 
really bad man or woman will not be a great lover of na- 
ture.” With this wise conclusion the young teacher went 
on with the round of her duties. 

Mrs. Burton was very glad to have her daughters home 
for the summer. “It gives me such a restful feeling to 
have all under the same roof again.” 

“It is nice to be here all the summer through. As I am 
to teach a whole half day next year, Christa and I will be 
able to go right on with our classes, for I can pay our 
way easily.” 

“ Don’t get miserly, little girlie,” said mamma, with a 
smile that indicated both love and appreciation of the 
small maiden beside her. 

“Misers hoard up money and I only love it for what it 
will bring.” 

“That’s right, Madie,” said Mrs. Crowan, who was 
spending the day with her friends. “I believe if I knew 
how many days I was going to live, and how much money 
I was going to have. I’d make my calculations so as to 
come out even. I can’t see anything so very handsome 
in a lot of bills, unless I can see something real nice be- 
hind them that I want to get, and then they look hand- 
some by proxy.” 

“Here is a, letter. Bell.” Mr. Burton came in and 
handed a tinted missive to his wife. 

“Hattie has been to the Pacific coast, on her wedding 
tour ; she writes that they will stop over for a few days 
on their return; they will be here the sixteenth. Why, 
Frank, that is to-day! You will have to hurry, or you 
will not get there in time to meet them.” Mrs. Burton 
smoothed her hair as she spoke ; she invariably did this 
when she heard a knock at the door or news of a proposed 
visit, although her hair always lay so smoothly. 

“Let me help you,” said Mrs. Crowan. 

“ There is nothing to do. I have my Saturday’s work 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


101 


done. Our house is so small that it does not take loner 

^ O 

to arrange it. It was very kind of you to offer.” 

“Well, I might as well get out of the way before they 
come,” and she began to fold up her work. 

“Indeed, you shall not attempt it. The idea of walk- 
ing this hot day, when your husband expects to call for 
you on his return.” 

“If John gets his grist in good season, he will be back 
before they get here.” The good lady settled back 
to her work. “Just as like as not he won’t get here until 
after dark, though.” 


.1 , 


102 


jack’s afibe, 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

BOUGHT “READY-MADE.” 

The visitors came when the frogs were beginning their 
croak down by the river. Mrs. Crowan twisted her hair 
and sat bolt upright, as if prepared to meet whatever 
might come unflinchingly, mentally anathematizing 
John and the miller for the delay of that grist. Mrs. 
Burton, with her daughters, met them on the lawn. She 
kissed her niece tenderly, and presented Madie and 
Christa ; Hattie gave the tips of her Angers to each, and 
in turn presented her husband. If Mr. Lawrence had 
been in search of relics, and had suddenly come upon a 
souvenir of the mound builders, he would not have stud- 
ied the specimen more coolly nor critically than he did 
his wife’s country relatives. But he saw only a quiet, 
self-possessed woman and two bright-faced girls. 

In the “best room” he found quite a different individ- 
ual. Mrs. Crowan was disgusted with the lukewarm 
hand shake, and was on the defensive immediately. 

Mr. Burton and the man brought in a huge Saratoga, 
the first Mrs. -Crowan had seen. “If I had known they 
had such things as that, we would have got one and lived 
in it, till we got our house built, instead of the wagon,” 
she said to Madie when they were in the kitchen to- 
gether. The girls laughed at the remark. 

“Doesn’t she look ever so much younger than her hus- 
band?” said Christa. 

“She is twenty and he is forty-five, so Sada wrote.” 

“Girls,” said their mother, “you shouldn’t talk people 
over in that way.” 

“ I begun the talk,” said Mrs. Crowan, hastening to 
take the blame upon herself. 

Supper was served a little later. Hattie had changed 
her traveling-dress for an elegant evening costume to 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


103 


please her husband, who was anxious to have her exhibit 
as much wealth as possible. ‘‘It is really missionary 
work, my dear. I presume these rustic relatives of yours 
never saw anything of the sort before.” 

It was a revelation to her young cousins, this magnifi- 
cently attired lady, and, with all a woman’s love of the 
beautiful, they enjoyed the picture. 

“We must seem very awkward and plain to them,” 
said Christa soberly, but Madie kept on quietly with her 
work. 

“ I do not envy her at all, with that husband of hers; 
he treats her as if she were a fancy article of furniture. It 
is pitiful to think of a real live girl as being treated in 
that way! Never to look, or act, or be like a woman. Al- 
ways to be a doll; I declare, she looked so much like one 
that I watched for her eyes to open and shut just the way 
them big ones do in the stores; and I was surprised every 
time she spoke. She had the awfulest lot of dresses to 
take out of that big trunk of hers before she got to the right 
one. I said : ‘ you must have had lots of sewing to do ;’ 
and she laughed and said. ‘Oh, most of these were 
bought ready-made ;’ and I says to myself, ‘that’s about 
the way with you, my girl. The old man had money 
enough to pay the’price, and so he owns you now. I suppose 
it is a good deal to be the husband of all them fine dresses ; 
but if one of my girls would sell herself the way that 
girl has, I should feel — considering the price paid — that 
she wouldn’t have much left to give to the Lord after her 
husband had settled his claims.’ ” Mrs. Orowan said this 
to her husband as they were jogging homeward in the 
moonlight. 

“ Your girls won’t do that; they’ve got too smart a 
mother,” said John admiringly. 

“There, there, John, I wasn’t a fishin’ for acompli- 
ment.” 

“ I know you wasn’t, Lizy, but go on with your talk.” 

“Well, after supper they asked her to play, and she 
simpered, and he got up and gave her his arm, and she 
took it and walked to the piano. She turned the music all 


104 


jack’s afire, 


over, and then she sat down and struck the piano, and her 
hands sprung up as if her arms was on springs. She 
looked down at a streak in the carpet and appeared to 
study a minute, then she looked up at that little statute 
on the bracket above the paino, and began to play. She 
hunted the whole length of the keys as if she was trying 
to find some extra music, and finally settled down and 
treaded that piano with her hands ; then she began to 
sing, and she did choke and squeal to beat all; I suppose 
that is opera singing, but I don’t like ik Singing ought 
to be happy work ; I can’t reconcile it with anything that 
takes on so awfully as she did. They asked Madie to 
play; so she went over to the piano, and just ca- 
ressed and coaxed the music right out of it. She seemed 
to know just where the best notes was hid, and the keys 
answered back as sweet, and Bonnie Boon went all through 
that house and way out doors, it seemed so glad, and I 
couldn’t keep the tears back. When Mrs Lawrence was 
complimented, she laughed and said: ‘I’m not in tune 
to-night;’ and when they praised Madie, she looked at 
them both, and said in that honest way of hers: ‘I am 
very glad if you liked it; I was afraid you wouldn’t.’” 

The city guests spent the quiet Sabbath with their 
relatives. When they found that all could read and 
write, and were as conversant as themselves with the great 
men and women of the day, they came down from their 
heights. Hattie grew natural, and her husband really en- 
joyed the novelty of the world about him. One day they 
actually learned that there was a baby in the house ; Mrs. 
Lawrence took her in her arms; Josie talked in her baby 
dialect, and Mr. Lawrence held his watch to her ear, she 
crowed and clutched at it. As neither posed for effect, 
the result was a charming tableau. 

On Tuesday they went away. “ I really enjoyed it,” 
said Mr. Lawrence. 

“ And I, too,” said Hattie graciously. “ My aunt is a 
lady, and Madie and Christa are nice, lovable girls.” 

“ Madie acts to me like a girl with a mission. I am 
always afraid of such a one ; still, I would gladly lend 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


105 


her all the assistance in my power if she would confide 
in me ; money might be an object. AVitli her face and voice 
she ought to marry well,” he said comj)lacently ; he was 
about to add: “ as you,” but thought that it might not 
sound complimentary to either party, and omitted the last 
two words. 


106 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

COMPLIMENTS. 

The promise of spring was being fulfilled; the raspber- 
ries near the house were offering up their rich fruitage ; 
the birds came, and perched, and sang, and helped them- 
selves to the luscious fruit. 

“ I say, Mr. Burton, I’ll get a gun to-night, and to- 
morrow I can make a finish of them birds ; they’ll eat 
every berry if we don’t look out,” grumbled the farm 
hand 

Madie turned to her father. ‘‘ They say a great deal 
about ‘ Southern hospitality,’ don’t you think we are just 
as hospitable at the North. These birds are our summer 
visitors, and, of course, they must be fed while they stay 
with us. We ought to feel amply recompensed by the 
music they give us. Please, papa, do not betray their 
trust in us.” 

Mr. Burton said something about “trying to frighten 
them off in some other way, and that the berries ought to 
be kept for their own use.” But the gun was not brought 
forward ; so the birds alternately sang and scolded from 
one bush, while Madie gathered the fruit, and tried to 
echo their song, from another. 

One day a cloud obscured the sun, and looking upward, 
these settlers beheld an army of insects, transparent in 
the sunlight. In a few hours that broad, beautiful country 
was a barren waste. A summer’s sun shone on a winter 
landscape. “If the grasshoppers had only stayed and 
done our fall plowing, after they got through with the 
harvesting, we’d a got our work all out of the way in good 
season,” said John Crowan, with an effort at cheerfulness. 

But who ever knew a community of energetic Ameri- 
cans to be discouraged at one failure? The stock was 
gathered together and taken to another part of the state 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


107 


to winter. Generous aid was proffered, and starvation 
was kept from the door. 

Madie and Christa went to work in the school-room with 
added zeal. At Christmas time, the primary teacher 
handed in her resignation ; the position was tendered to 
Madie. She gladly accepted. “ I should like to keep up 
with my class, too. Don’t you think I can?” 

Prof. Pearce, looking down at the uplifted face, an- 
swers: “I think you can, my child.” 

Often the duties seem monotonous, and sometimes 
Madie thinks she has mistaken her vocation, but more 
often still, she feels as if it were the grandest thing in 
the world to be a teacher of these little ones. 

Aggie Peyton was going to have a party. All the girls 
and boys at school were eagerly discussing the great 
event. In her own home the excitement was intense. “I 
never attended a real grown-up party. What do they do, 
Robert?” Christa asked. 

“ Whatever they think best. I should follow out my 
own good sense if I were you.” 

“ But I feel as if I hadn’t any.” 

“ ‘What shall I wear?’ is, I believe, the great question 
with the gentler sex,” said Robert. 

“ That is easily settled for Christa and me. Each 
has one dress for church and one for school. I met Mrs. 
Valton the other day. I had a veil over my face and she 
did not recognize me. I bowed. She looked down at 
my dress and said : “ Why, good morning. Miss Burton ! ” 

Robert laughed heartily. “Well, Madie, no one could 
dispute the individuality of your dress, after such recog- 
nition.” 

Madie was late home that evening. The girls, eager 
to make arrangements for the party, were impatient at the 
delay. “Why are you so late every night?” Christa 
asked. 

“I love to dream an hour in the school-room when my 
work is done,” she explained. “ I seem to see the bright 
faces of the children again, before me. Gathered from dif- 


108 


jack’s afire, 


ferent houses, and with so many different trainings and 
dispositions, they make the day a very busy one. I like 
to feel the quiet when they have gone and left me. I 
believe in this quiet hour, that I right many of the other- 
wise wrong ideas that I may get from the mere routine 
of school work.” 

“I think you have explained the reason of your delay 
quite satisfactory,” said Mrs. Peyton. 

Christa abruptly changed the subject. “Most every- 
one in a story book has, at least, one silk dress, or can 
find some wonderful article in her mother’s wardrobe, but 
we will have to wear our old cashmere dresses.” 

“Never mind, dear, we will do quite well with what we 
have,” said Madie consolingly. 

“ The fashion magazines inform us that ‘ young ladies 
are trimming party dresses with swan’s down;’ as Clayton 
is not a large city, why would not cotton batting answer 
our purpose?” 

“Aggie, you are not at all sensible in your remarks!” 
remonstrated her matter-of-fact mother. 

“ The hostess should not be better dressed than her 
guests, and we will each count as hostess. Therefore, as 
we’ve decided not to spend much time on our attire, let us 
make out the list of people we intend to invite. Madie, 
you like to write, so you can jot the names down as I give 
them to you!” Aggie began to count them off rapidly. 

Madie laid down her pen, and looked at her friend. 
“ Aggie, you might as well get a list of all the boys and 
girls in school and copy that, or give a general invita- 
tion.” 

“ That would not make them feel as if they were really 
invited, I’m afraid. I do intend to ask every one, 
though.” 

Mrs. Peyton was about to object, but Robert spoke to 
her, when the others were in earnest conversation. “ They 
are too young to be deeply steeped in sin ; a slight is 
no benefit to anyone; while a kindness often is.” So his 
young sister was p'^.rmitted to do as she wished. 

“There’ll be a goodly number of us to come out all to- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


109 


gether!” was the gleeful conclusion, when the last invi- 
tation had been given and accepted. 

Madie had brightened up her own and her sister’s toilets 
with some fresh laces and ribbons. The little locket, 
given her by the Confederate soldier, was the only orna- 
ment she wore. Aggie, loyal to her friends, and consid- 
erate of their feelings, was also dressed plainly, but all 
three were so happy that each one who looked at their 
bright faces that night did not miss the gay attire. 

“ If there are any prettier girls than you three, at the 
party to-night, I’d just like to see ’em!” said Grant Pey- 
ton, with boyish admiration, when the trio were waiting 
in the parlor for the first guests to arrive. 

Madie’ s most devoted attendant that evening was the 
mayor of the young city, a gay bachelor of thirty. 

“You waltz beautifully! ” he said, bending low and giv- 
ing her what he considered a winning smile. Seeing that 
she was unmoved by the compliment he exerted himself 
anew. 

She was asked to sing, and unhesitatingly seated her- 
self at the piano; though her voice faltered a little, 
she sang the sweet, old ballad with a naturalness that 
charmed all who listened. Mayor Harding praised her 
voice and expression. “I am not at all surprised to hear 
you render a ballad with so much feeling, after having 
read your poems.” 

“I have not written more than one or two,” she said. 

“ But they were veritable little gems.” He half guessed 
that this was Madie’ s weak point and he cunningly assailed 
it. “You are not vain over them, I see.” 

“I hope not; I do indeed,” she replied solemnly. 
“ Others have done so much better than I can ever expect 
to do that I cannot be egotistical over my efforts. But, 
if it is a work for me to do, this writing out of my 
thoughts, why ought I not to do it as carefully and as 
free from vanity as I would do dressmaking or millinery ? 
When they do work well they feel at liberty to say as 
much. If they are not supposed to be filled with vanity 
at the harmony of form and color why should I be over 


110 jack’s afibe, 

the harmony of words? I believe things can be made 
melodious to the eye.'’' 

Prof. Pearce, who had joined them as Madie began 
speaking, now spoke earnestly. “ I think you are right, 
Madie; whatever work a man or woman can do, and do 
better than anything else, that is the work for him or for 
her to perform.” Madie thanked him with her eyes; his 
words made her very happy. 

Friday evening, when she went home, she told of the 
compliments she received on her dancing and appearance. 

Mrs. Burton, holding Josie in her arms, said gently: 
“I wonder if this is all!” 

“All of what, mamma?” 

“ The end of all my plans. I have been very proud of 
my little daughter and anxious to see her educated, and 
now, after nearly two years at school, she comes home, 
not telling one word in regard to her essay or school 
work, only this : that a gay young gentleman flatters her, 
and says she ‘waltzes beautifully.’ ” 

Madie had never received such a rebuke from her 
mother, and it hurt her more than any words had ever 
done. 

“ Mamma, you will never have a chance to say that again. 
It was very foolish to repeat those words, but he said 
other words of approval to me, and so did Prof. Pearce ; 
they made me very glad. I did not want to tell you, 
mamma, for fear you would be disappointed in my work ; 
if I am going to fail in anything I undertake I want 
to fail alone. I can bear disappointment myself, but I 
could not for all of my people. I shall never repeat a 
compliment again. I do not want you to think me friv- 
olous.” The last word was said with a sob. 

She was only seventeen! Mrs. Burton put Josie in her 
cradle, took her eldest daughter in her arms, and soothed 
her with loving words. “I misjudg3d you, darling, and 
I am very sorry that I was so hasty in my conclusions!” 

“Talk about the duty of children to parents! They, of 
course, owe a great deal to them,” she said, when relating 
the incident to Mrs. Orowan. “But parents owe some- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH 


111 


thing to children. I never asked forgiveness of anyone 
more willingly than I did of my daughter at that time, 
and it strengthened the bond of love between us. If I 
had held myself aloof, she would have smarted under the 
injustice, and something of a barrier would have inevi- 
tably been raised between us ; then she would have ceased 
confiding in me. Mothers and daughters should be very 
near to each other, always.” 


112 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XY. 

ALMA MATER. 

They were all together singing college songs and re- 
lating college jokes, occasionally varying the programme 
with the calling up of some army reminiscence by some- 
one who had worn the honored blue. Many of them had 
been there during the entire course; some had entered 
after being ‘‘ mustered out;” a few were in the law class; 
one had come up from the medical college, where he had 
taken his first year of lectures, to attend commencement, 
and no one enjoyed the reunion more than this prospect- 
ive M. D. 

“Phil, if you’ll be quiet, we will have some speeches.” 
Ned laughingly drew him back into a seat as he spoke. 

“ That is demanding altogether too much!” said Eay 
Burton, quietly amused at his brother’s jokes. 

“Let us hear from Mills,” called one of the gay com- 
pany. 

“Yes, let the professor speak!” cried the irrepressible 
Phil. “He and I can compare notes, we have both been 
in the dissecting-room, although he has only studied the 
anatomy of words.” 

“ To-morrow we leave the old chapel on the hill ; let us 
have two minute speeches. Philips, as you are a lawyer, 
you are the one to put the case,” suggested another. 

Ned spoke briefly; Ealph, who had been a tutor in the 
school during the year since graduation, and had been 
studying to fit himself for his chosen profession, followed 
with a few appropriate parting words. 

Eay said simply: “I am beyond speech, boys; I only 
wish you all a hearty God-speed! ” 

“You see, my brother sums you u]) as he would a 
column of figures!” said Phil, mounting the rostrum. 
“Boys, I should like to make a speech, but my time will 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


113 


not permit ; someone may be in front of my office, reading 
my sign, and wondering what sort of a physician I am, 
and I feel as if I ought to be there to tell him. If any 
of you were to need medical advice, I would say that it 
will be given gratis to members of my class. Remember 
this, and do not risk your precious lives with quacks. 
Excuse me for ‘talking shop,’ but at present it seems abso- 
lutely necessary.” 

Phil paused, and cries of “go on! go on!” resounded 
through the room. It was well known that Phil’s office 
was, as yet, “moored in Spain/’ but they were all boyish 
enough to appreciate his words. The young medical 
student went on in a changed tone. 

“Honestly, boys, I did not think it would be so hard to 
say good by. The seniors and juniors were very intimate 
last year, and to-day it is hard to realize to which class I 
really belonged. If I were not so big I’d cry, besides it 
is a bad thing for the eyes. I could explain, but it would 
be difficult to simplify it down to your comprehension. 
For every good thing that may come into the life of each 
I shall be glad, and for every misfortune I shall have a 
feeling of sadness. Next to family ties are the ties of 
those wffio have been working together for years with a 
oneness of purpose as we have been.” 

The cheering had subsided, and instead of gay, rollick- 
ing college boys, a group of men stood looking out into 
the future, from those college doors, eager, yet dreading, 
to step forth to meet the work and care that was coming 
toward them. 

“The Future has her hands full of something for each 
of us, but we’ll have to go a little farther on to learn 
what it is,” said Ralph soberly. 

•I believe that I am wretchedly happy, for I never 
was so sorry in being glad, nor so happy in being sad, as 
at the present time,” said Phil, while the mixture of 
mirth and sadness in his voice and face gave correct ex- 
pression to his words. 

“ I think we are all decided on a profession or plan of 
work, except Marvin. I haven’t heard you say a word/' 


114 


jack’s afike, 


Ned turned as he spoke to a dapper little fellow, whose 
perfumed locks were parted in the middle, and whose 
lavender neck-tie was tied in the most approved style. 

“I haven’t decided yet. I supposed you all knew that 
1 was not obliged to do anything. I shall interest myself 
in something, I presume. I think I shall travel for a 
year, and after that, if I find any business worth paying 
my whole attention to, I shall take it up.” He leaned 
back gracefully against one of the pillars, as if the con- 
versation were ended. 

“Let me make a suggestion, Marvin; if you go to 
Paris, why not have an interview with Worth, perhaps 
you could ‘get in’ with him.” The others laughed 
heartily at Phil’s advice, and Marvin good-naturedly joined 
in. If one were to be offended at college jokes, there 
would be little room for aught but an exhibition of temper. 

“I know, Phil, that I do have an eye to color, and it is 
positively painful for me to see a lady who is not well 
dressed.” 

“But let me tell you, sir, you are just the kind of man 
who would ridicule a woman for paying her whole time 
and attention to dress and for being extravagant. 
Let me see, weren’t you the man who debated against 
female suffrage, taking the ground that ‘ ladies were more 
greatly interested in style than in statesman?’ Now you 
show your good sense (?) by noting and praising ladies 
of that stamp. Women, as a rule^ are fond of admira- 
tion, and it is always the best dressed girl in a ball-room 
who gets the most invitations to dance. Men who pay 
their homage to fashionable women only, will be very 
apt to get them for wives, and ought not to complain 
afterward.” 

“Well done, Phil! I didn’t know that you had ever 
paid so much attention to affairs of the heart.” 

Phil turned to his cousin and said, “ I am only theoriz- 
ing. I have never been ‘hard hit’ yet, but you might 
as well confess and show us the picture that you treasure 
so carefully.” Ned assumed an expression of innocent 
surprise. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


115 


“ I presume I shall marry, and I shall try to select a ■ 
woman who can hold her own in good society ” 

“ That is, if she will accept your offer, Marvin,” Phil 
broke in. 

“ Oh, well, few girls would refuse a good home and po- 
sition.” 

“I know several that I think would do that very thing, 
if the incumbrance of a man, to be thrown in, did not 
suit them.” The boys were listening attentively; in a 
student’s curriculum of fun, a lark stands first, and next 
comes a discussion. 

“ If you could order a wife as you would a bill of gro- 
ceries, you would call for beauty, style, grace, submission, 
a moderate amount of talent, a superfiuous amount of ac- 
complishments.” As Phil mentioned each of these attri- 
butes, he looked at Marvin, and after the nod of approval 
was given, wrote it down. “Amiability, modesty — cer- 
tainly a woman must be modest — and ‘last but not least,’ 
clingingly dependent. Here we have quite an array. I 
am not sure that even with this tabulation, a girl would 
not get the poorest of the bargain with most of us. My 
list would read a little differently, but I believe I should 
call for more than I have written down. How humble we 
men are, after all. Marvin wants a doll that can dance, 
and smile, and subserve to his rule. He’ll get one ! But, 
boys, I believe there is nothing that I would so soon tire 
of as a chronic smile. A society girl smiles at every- 
thing that is said, and at everyone who says it, yet she is 
exactly what a society man ought to get; they’ll have no 
domestic life; they’ll have a place to stay, when they are 
not out in society, and they will call it home. There they 
can be just as disagreeable and fault-finding as they choose, 
but they will be all smiles and devotion in company, and 
the world will call them a ‘happy couple.’ For my part, 

I like to feel happy and comfortable at home. I haven’t a 
particle of respect for a man who has to put his fingers on 
the pulse of society to discover how he is feeling himself.” 

Phil waxed eloquent, and was greeted with great ap- 
plause and cries of “Hear! Hear!” 


116 


jack’s afire, 


“What kind of a woman will yon marry, Phil?” 

“A woman with a heart and soul, if she’ll have me. 
One that will smile on me as often as she does on the 
outside world. There are plenty of girls of this description 
to-day, although I am afraid there is a gradual decrease, 
owing to lack of appreciation of the article.” 

Marvin shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t endure a 
woman who would have an opinion on every subject; they 
always speak so loud and coarse.” 

“I think you imagine that, or have heard someone 
who should be classed with prehistoric fossils make that 
remark ; I had almost forgotten to make a tabulation of your 
attributes to offset the list I hold in my hand. You have 
money, a graceful figure, waltz elegantly, are well edu- 
cated, possess a beautiful home and are troubled with dys- 
pepsia; to be sure, the latter isn’t a great acquisition, but 
it is something that sticks to a fellow in gay society, and 
it will serve to make you an object of sympathetic interest 
to the ladies. Don’t be at all alarmed, it isn’t dangerous 
in the least, people have often been known to live longer 
with it than without it.” 

“Come, come, Phil, you are talking ‘shop’ again. Let 
us give three cheers and a tiger for Alma Mater y Hats 
were tossed recklessly, and the building resounded with 
the shout. They filed out, through the broad hall and 
over the stone threshold, “worn by the tread of many 
feet.” 

The day burned slowly out ; beyond the lake the water 
was crimson ; the point lay in a flood of light, and the 
wood-fringed city sat peacefully upon her hills. The stu- 
dents had been familiar with the scene for years, they had 
drawn near to nature in that lovely spot, but it’s beauty 
struck them more forcibly than ever to-night. 

Palph uncovered, and turned slowly around as if he were 
photographing each familiar object upon his memory. 
“They tell of Italian sunsets, Avas there ever any view 
more beautiful than this?” he exclaimed, and the group 
standing with him said “No.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


117 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

FULL OF SURPRISES. 

“Only nine days more of school,” said Madie, tying 
on her broad-brimmed hat. “Only nine times to say 
good morning and good night to my boys and girls; so 
I must linger over each one.” 

“Why, Madie, you will be with them all next year, if 
you are going to be first assistant.” 

“I know, Aggie, but it will not be the same room nor 
the same year, and, although it will be a better position, 
I feel sorry to lose these little ones.” 

On Saturday the class went botanizing with Professor 
Pearce for the last time. A grand tramp through the 
woods, along the bank of the river. The day played an 
accompaniment, and the heart of each sang a song of joy. 

Peace was written on river, wood, and sky, and hushed 
the universe with its blissful quiet. 

“ See how still the birds are,” said Christa. 

“ I think we all must be Lotus-eaters to-day. I do not 
believe the birds can fiy or sing if they try,” said Aggie 
laughingly. 

“It is quite a different trip from the one six weeks ago; 
the fiowers proved themselves wiser than we were, for they 
did not show their faces here that day.” 

Professor Pearce looked at Madie while she was speak- 
ing. “ Your face indicates so much happiness to-day, that 
I have found myself wondering many times what was the 
reason of your great joy.” 

“ Just the day,” she answered simply. 

“What a lovely day it is,” said Aggie, removing her 
hat. 

“I believe you have made that remark a half dozen 
times, at least,” said her brother, who was one of the 
party. 


118 


jack’s afire, 


“ I think we have all done that. It seems to me that I 
never knew a lovelier spring than this has been.” As she 
spoke, Christa stooped and bathed hands and face in the 
clear water of the river. 

“You will hear that sentence every bright spring day 
as long as you live.” 

“ Well, perhaps it isn’t original, Robert. I can’t ex- 
press myself as wittily as Aggie, nor as practically as 
Madie, but I can feel it all.” 

“ I believe you can. Add these flowers to your collec- 
tion, please. I have been trying to find some wild honey- 
suckles for you, but there doesn’t seem to be any.” 

“ There is a lady with both hands full, but she will not 
offer any to us,” said one of the school-boys. 

The lady, walking slowly down the woodland path, sees 
the group of young people, and comes toward them. “You 
are out botanizing, too, and I have gathered all there is of 
this variety ; they are great favorites of mine. I could 
not bear to leave them here to ‘waste their sweetness.’ I 
can supply each one.” She broke off the rich clusters 
and distributed them, receiving hearty thanks in return. 

Madie, standing apart from the rest, said, when taking 
the proffered flowers: “ Thank you, I like you very much 
for this.” 

“ Do you, my dear? Then I hope to see more of you, 
for I like to be liked,” the stranger said pleasantly. 

“ There, Charlie Layton, I guess you will acknowledge 
you were mistaken ; there are too many such people in the 
world to allow one to be a successful cynic. Often, in 
dark moods, we allow petty circumstances to overshadow 
and occupy a greater place in our minds than little deeds 
of kindness ; we are apt to take the latter as a matter of 
course, and let them go unheeded, proving, by our indif- 
ference, that they are more common than bad acts ; it is the 
exception, and not the rule, that we notice. If that lady 
had passed by without offering her flowers to us, we would 
have thought, and some of us would undoubtedly have 
said: ‘ How selfish that is.’ ” Madie was advocating a 
cherished principle, and spoke earnestly. 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


119 


“ I like her,” said Christa; “ and if I should never see 
her again, I’ll be her friend for always.” 

“ I think,” Robert Peyton was speaking, “ that she has 
made the bright, sunny day brighter and sunnier; her 
deed, word, and smile cannot be separated in my memory 
of her, but sink way down in my heart and make me feel 
kindly disposed toward the world.” 

The lady, destined to figure so conspicuously in the life 
of one of that group, went on her way. 

Another day passed through the western gateway, into 
the broad fields of the Past, as our party reached home. 

“ Tired, yes,” in response to Mrs. Peyton’s query; “but 
very glad we went ;” while the flowers looked brightly 
from the vases on the table, and seemed to say: “Of 
course you are glad you went ; if you hadn’t gone we would 
not be here to-night.” Madie held up one little flower 
face after another. “ It seems too bad to pull them to pieces 
just to find out their names, when they nodded to us so 
prettily to-day in the woods, as if they knew us ever so 
well without an introduction.” 

“We all have to be pulled to pieces, somehow, some- 
where, in order to classify us,” said Aggie. 

The next week Clayton Academy celebrated its first 
commencement. Three strangers entered and took a seat 
in the rear of the hall, directly after the opening exer- 
cises. When the third speaker was called, they leaned 
forward and listened eagerly. Aggie read her essay and 
again seated herself with her class. “ She did nicely,” 
said one of the trio. 

“There is Madie. Don’t you see?” 

“ She has the valedictory,” said the third, referring to 
his programme. 

The girlish voice trembled with emotion and fright, 
but not a few in that vast audience were moved by her 
earnest, parting words. 

The diplomas were awarded and the three gentlemen 
arose to leave the room. “We do not want to meet them 
here,” said the, youngest, who was the spokesman of the 
party. 


120 


jack’s afire, 


At that moment the President of the Board of Trustees 
stepped to the front and called “Madeline Burton;” the 
slight figure in her shining white dress came forward. He 
made a brief speech, setting forth the advantages of educa- 
tion, and the extreme pleasure he felt in being there that 
evening, and how greatly he appreciated the honor con- 
ferred upon him by being chosen to represent his associates 
to make a few remarks to the graduating class ; while Madie, 
standing wondering and embarrassed before him, was puz- 
zled to discover the reason of her being selected as a tar- 
get for all eyes. “In order,” he continued, “to stimulate 
you to renewed effort, and to show the appreciation of all 
for the work done, I wish to express the hearty approval 
of every member of the Board, to each and every member 
of this class ; but there is one young lady, who has served 
as a teacher for nearly two years, and continued with her 
class; doing the entire work in a highly creditable man- 
ner. At a meeting a short time since we voted to give a 
prize to the one who read the best essay on the com- 
mencement stage; as chairman of the committee to 
judge the effort, I present this purse to Miss Burton. 
It was difficult to choose, but, taking all things into 
consideration, I think we will but voice the feelings 
of the audience when we make the award to her.” Turning 
to Madie he said, “take it my child; you have earned it.” 

There were tears in eyes and voice when she replied: 
“I thank you all so much, and hope in the years to 
come, I may so work that you will not recall to-night with 
wonder ; I am very glad for myself, and more than all for 
my people. Believe me, I appreciate it.” 

“Give us one song, please,” said Mayor Harding, who 
was seated on the platform. Madie hesitated. 

“Sing ‘Home, Sweet Home,’” called a voice from the 
audience. 

She started ; the voice had a familiar ring. The accom- 
panist struck the chords, and Madie sang the words she 
loved so well, with an expression all her own, making home 
seem nearer and dearer to every listener. 

Aggie looked over the heads of the audience, and saw 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


121 


the three young men, waiting near the door. “ There 
are Ned and Phil Burton and Ralph Mills, I am sure,” 
she whispered to herself. 

“Madie’s got just the voice for dying pieces,” said Ben- 
jie, trying to stand up in his chair, and being held down 
by Bert, whose face burned with mortification. 

Little Josie, on her mother’s knee, listened to the famil- 
iar song and cooed, “ sissy dea,” while the audience smiled 
in sympathy. 

“Look there!” One of the three unknown nudged 
another, and both looked at the third. 

“I’ve learned a secret,” said the younger man. 

“ I have known it for years ; it has grown right up with 
him,” returned his companion. The tall young gen- 
tleman looked at the fair singer, and forgot that there 
were any others in the world but they two. 

A hush foil owed the song — the most sincere applause an 
audience can give. Aggie looked again for those familiar 
faces, but they had disappeared. “I must have been mis- 
taken; yet I am positive it was their faces that I saw.” 

Madie came to her from a circle of friends, who had 
pressed forward with congratulations. “Aggie, who 
called for that song? ” 

Aggie with a perplexed look answered: “ I cannot tell.” 

“Are you going to congratulate ’em, Lizy?” 

“No, indeed, John. I’ll see both of ’em to-morrow 
and can tell ’em how I enjoyed the whole of it. I know 
them and they know me ; but I ain’t a goin’ to elbow my 
way through that crowd, just to prove to the audience tliat 
we’re acquainted.” 

“ Well, then, we might as well be gittin’ along. You’re 
losin’ a hairpin on t’other side, Lizy.” 

Mr. Crowan drove the wagon close to the sidewalk, and 
helped his wife up to the spring seat. “Now, Lizy, if 
we drive on kind o’ brisk, we’ll get to see ’em when we 
go by Mr. Burton’s.” 

“ Hold on, sir. Are you Mr. Crowan? ” 

“ That’s my name.” 

“We thought we knew you. We have learned so much 


122 


jack’s afire, 


of you through Madie’s letters. We are anxious to go to 
Mr. Burton’s to-night, if you will kindly direct us. These 
gentlemen are, my cousin, Phil Burton, and my friend, 
Ealph Mills.” 

“And you are the one they call Ned? ” said Mrs. Crowan 
turning and reaching a hand to each. “I am right glad 
to see you.” 

“ If you can stand oxen and a lumber wagon, climb 
right in and we will take you clear to the door. We’ve 
just been to see Madie graduate; she done splendidly,” 
said John Crowan. 

“Yes, we thought so,” said Phil, as he climbed into the 
wagon. 

“Oh, you were there, were you? Well, I guess you 
wasn’t disappointed in her,” said Mrs. Crowan as the 
oxen swung to the four cardinal points, on their home- 
ward journey. 

“We certainly were not, unless happily so. She looks a 
little older and more thoughtful.” 

“Yes, Madie has been alive all these years. People 
make such an awful fuss about Eip Van Winkle’s twenty 
years’ sleep. I know lots of folks who have been asleep 
all their lives. Nothing seems to wake ’em up. Now, 
there’s Madie; she’s quiet lots of times, and she dreams 
some, too, but she wakes out of it all the brighter. She 
makes everyone she talks with sure that she has felt 
every hour of her life; there ain’t a day that she feels 
nothing, does nothing, and is nothing. I don’t believe 
she ever drew a blank minute.” Mrs. Crowan bobbed 
her head around as she talked, until every hairpin stood 
straight out with excitement. 

“Maybe I’ve said more than I ought to, right out to 
strangers, but I haven’t said half I’d like to. John’s 
smile, when I’m a talking, always urges me on to say too 
much,” she thought as they drove along slowly. 

“John, don’t you think you can make the oxen go a 
little faster ? I suppose you gentlemen would like to beat 
the folks home.” 

“Never mind, we boys can call on them after they get 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


123 


home, just as well as to be there to receive them.” All 
three smiled as Ralph spoke, in joyous anticipation of the 
welcome. 

Madie and Christa went back to Mr. Peyton’s to pre- 
pare for the homeward trip. 

“ Come home with us, Aggie. I feel disappointed about 
something ; although I can’t tell what. I am surely not 
ungrateful for what I have received to-night. There, 
sojueone has come!” and Madie started nervously. 

Only papa and mamma have come for us. Madie, dar- 
ling, what is the matter?” asked Christa, putting her 
arm around her sister. 

•‘Nothing; I believe I have seen a ghost; no, only 
heard one,” she said, laughing hysterically. Christa 
looked at her in amazement. “I will tell you after a 
while; this question will have to do for now. If you 
should dream of seeing someone that you hadn’t seen 
for a long time, and of hearing him speak, and should 
wake up to find it a dream, if it had seemed real just fol* 
a minute, dont you think you would be disappointed ? ” 

“There, there, Madie, I’ll go home with you. We must 
both feel a little lost on leaving school, for you have ex- 
pressed my feelings exactly.” 

‘ I think I had better not graduate, if this is the way 
one is to act,” said Christa. 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Crowan were there. I was glad to see 
them in the audience, for I had rather have her opinion 
than any others, except my own people,” said Madie as 
they were going home. 

“ You’ll get it, ‘unbiased, straight way of the cloth/ as 
she says. I noticed them when you were on the stage ; 
she and her husband never looked away from you, only to 
glance at each other and nod their heads approvingly. I 
didn’t see them while I Avas reading.” 

“ There they are now,” said Bert, who was as alert as a 
man on picket duty. “ They’ve got someone in Avith 
them.” 

“You can go by,” Mr. Crowan called. Mr. Burton 
turned out and drove rapidly by. They noticed 


124 


jack’s afibe, 


some dark objects in the rear of the wagon. The others 
wondered ‘ what neighbors had attended the exercises in 
company with the Crowans ; ’ but Aggie, in that one brief 
glance, aided by a woman’s intuition, was satisfied that 
she had not been mistaken in the faces she had seen that 
night. 

While Madie was arranging her bouquets, there came 
a raj) at the door; Mr. Burton opened it. “ Good evening, 
sir ; could you keep some travelers to-night ? ” 

“ I do not know, but will speak to my wife.” 

Madie went to her father. “Ask them in, papa.” He 
threw the door wide open. “Ned, Phil, Ealph! Don’t 
you know the boys, mamma?” 

Phil and Ned kissed their aunt and cousins, and Ealph 
greeted Mrs. Burton and Christa as tenderly, but when 
Madie came to him with upturned face, he only took her 
hand in his. “ He doesn’t seem a bit glad to see me, and 
I was as glad to see him as I was to see the others,” she 
thoughti When she spoke to him again she called him 
Mr. Mills. 

“You saw us, didn’t you, Aggie?” Phil asked. 

“Yes.” 

“ I was afraid you did.” 

“Mr. Mills, it was you who called for ‘Home, Sweet 
Home!”’ 

“Yes, Madie, I called for the song. But I am Ealph 
to you and all those here.” 

Madie wondered again. 

“We are out looking up a situation, and left the rest of 
our party to make -you a visit, promising to join them 
Avhen they reached the foot of the mountains. I shall 
have to take another course of lectures ; but I thought I 
would travel with the rest, and be ready to locate when I 
get through.” Phil gave this in explanation of their sud- 
den appearance ; then began to recall by-gone days with 
Aggie. 

“ One song, please, Madie, before we separate for the 
night,” urged Ned. 

“ What shall it be?” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


125 


“ Anything you like.” 

She sang “Home Again,” so sweetly, and with such a 
glad ring in her voice, that all gathered around the 
piano. 

“I declare; I don’t know whether we are expected to 
laugh or cry; I feel a little like doing both.” 

“ Phil, it doesn’t take long to discover that you haven’t 
changed during the past four years.” 

“No, Aunt Bell, I think I am much the same, only a 
little wiser, of course; and my moustache, don’t you think 
it vastly becoming ? ” 

“ It doesn’t seem to me to he coming very vasV’ 

“Aggie, that is too bad! Come, we haven’t heard you 
sing.” 

“ I have a severe cold, and am all out of practice. I 
only sing a little for my own amusement,” she said mis- 
chievously. 

“ Please sing one song, for the days gone by.” 

She went to the piano and sang a school song, sung by 
them all years ago. 

“Oh, come, come away! The school bell now is ring- 
ing.” Each one joined in, singing it as if the years had 
been but a dream, and they were all children together ; in 
Aggie’s voice there was not even a shade of sadness. 

“Has any old fellow got mixed with the boys?” she 
asked, quoting from her favorite Holmes. 

Ned drew Madie down beside him for a little earnest 
talk, such as they had been accustomed to in the old days. 
Balpli, for the first time, felt a strangeness among these 
people whom he knew and loved so well. “I thought she 
had not changed, but she has; her cousins are more to her 
than I am,” he thought, as he saw Madie and Ned to- 
gether. 

Madie sat by the window, looking sadly at the young 
moon fading out in the west. The cool greeting of tlie 
friend, who had been her counselor for eight years, 
troubled her. The pain was the more hard to bear because 
she was sure that the girls had noticed it, although they 
had said nothing. They proved by their very silence that 


126 


jack’s afire, 


they did not wish to hurt her feelings by mentioning it. She 
had dreamed so many times of meeting him, and of tell- 
ing him things that she could not make real in her let- 
ters, and now that she had met him, she could think of 
nothing to say, and wondered if it would be the same the 
next day. She had yet to learn that people after having 
been separated for some time, though ever so good friends 
at parting, often feel a constraint at meeting, and it takes 
time to drop into the old grooves from which the separa- 
tion lifted them. 

Ealph, in his room, was also thinking soberly, taking 
no part in the felicitous expressions of the cousins, who 
were overjoyed at the re-union. “What is the matter, 
Ealph ? You are as glum as can be ! What has happened 
to make you cross?” 

“I am only quietly sober, Phil,” he answered slowly. 
The gay conversation continued about him, while he went 
along the paths of memory, and noted a land-mark here 
aild there, which told him that his favorite pupil had been 
in his thoughts for years. It had been an undefined 
feeling before, but now he understood. “ I ought to have 
greeted her as I did the others, and I would if I had met 
her before I heard her read and sing ; after that I could 
not without discovering my secret to all of them. She is 
too young ; her mother would not like her to know. She 
shall be my dear little sister for a long time yet ; I would 
not ask her to share my poverty, even if she were older.” 
“What if some other one should come and claim her?” 
He answered the thought with another. “If she would 
be happier — if that is the way it is to be — I shall give 
her up, but I believe it is foreordained,” and a smile 
lurked in his eyes. 

“ Madie, your horse is a beauty, and I will break him 
to the saddle.” 

“ I shall be very glad to have you, Ned.” They had 
been viewing the new home in the light of the morning 
sun. 

After breakfast, true to his promise, Ned saddled the 
colt and mounted him. Leon reared and plunged. “Care- 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


127 


fully, Ned, I do not wish this visit to terminate in broken 
bones,” said Mrs. ^ Burton. The horse, learning that a 
firm hand was guiding him, soon grew quiet and can- 
tered down the lawn, out on the prairie. 

“Aunt Bell, you have an extensive door-yard,” said 
Phil, looking away over the rolling plain. 

“We had our house built to face the West. I did not 
want to come way out hero, and turn our house back as if 
we were homesick for the East,” she answered with a 
smile. 

Mr. Burton had an errand to the city that morning, and, 
to the surprise of his visitors, did not ask one of them to 
accompany him. He drove directly to the telegraph 
office and sent a message eastward over the wires. “Will 
you wait for an answer?” enquired the operator. 

“No; I will drive back this evening.” 

The boys had taken hoes immediately after his depart- 
ure and had made a good showing in the corn-field. “ I 
don’t want you to go to work as soon as you get here,” he 
remonstrated as he drove up. “You have done so much, 
however, that I will loan my man to Mr. Crowan for a day, 
as he is trying to do without help this season.” 

‘Let him go for the entire time we are here. We can 
do all there is to be done and have plenty of time for 
recreation besides,” urged Ned. Mr. Burton looked doubt- 
fully at the others. 

“ Oh, we are agreed. We have talked it all over. Ned 
isn’t the only energetic one here,” said Phil coolly. 

“We are going visiting and fishing, and are bound to 
have a good time generally, but it is work to-day.” 

The day that had begun so brightly proved itself to 
be like some people : it would not bear acquaintance, and 
the afternoon was rainy and disagreeable. Mrs. Burton 
looked anxiously from the window. “I wonder if it will 
clear away so you can go to Clayton as you intended, 
Frank?” The young people marveled at her eagerness, 
when he had been there only that morning. 

The sun struggled through the clouds to say good 
night, leaving a fringe of gold and crimson around each. 


128 


jack’s afire, 


Nature had finished her bath, and a clean, beautiful world 
went quietly to rest. “ One good thing in having a house 
built way out doors — as this one is — you are able to see 
what Nature is doing all around you,” said Phil, who was 
watching the clouds roll away. 

“Where are the clouds going to now?” asked Benjie. 

“Going to wash somewhere else,” Phil answered 
promptly. A smile was on each face. Josie, noticing 
the expression, clapped her hands and laughed loudly. 
“There, little one, you appreciate your cousin.” He 
caught her in his arms and tossed her high above his 
head. 

Mrs. Burton went out to meet her husband when he 
returned. 

“ Did you get an answer?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is she coming?” 

“Yes.” 

“When? Why don’t you tell it all, Frank?” 

“Thursday,” he answered, smiling. 

“I do hope she will not disappoint us.” 

She went back to the others with a glad look on her 
face. 

“I think Aunt Bell must have found the fountain that 
De Leon sought, she looks so young and bright to-night,” 
said Ned, who had caught her look. 

“I feel young. Why should I not, when all my boys 
and girls are around me? ” 

“ You are one of the few who can grow old gracefully,” 
he said admiringly. 

The June Sabbath came in all its freshness and beauty. 

“ There is, as mamma often says, ‘ such a difference in 
silences,’ ’ Madie thought. “It was so hard and uncom- 
fortable the other night, but to-day it is so sweet and 
])eaceful. A quiet must be both within and without in 
^)rder to be felt. One can have such a restful feeling 
when with loved ones. I had rather sit quietly here with 
my own people all about me, than to talk to any other, but 
I am afraid that this is somewhat selfish.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


129 


The responses had never seemed so sweet and solemn 
to the young man kneeling at Madie’s side, as on this Sab- 
bath morning. The Apostolic creed in that clear, rever- 
ent voice, how could one doubt or be sceptical of her 
faith, at least ? The Te Deum rolled through the church 
and up and away on wings unseen. A soul, a prayer, and 
a divine melody are the only things on “ the earth be- 
neath” that are beyond the law of gravitation. 

“It seems to me that Heaven is so near to-day, it would 
be no pain to die,” said Madie, when they left the church. 

That evening she was playing softly, weaving sweet 
fancies into sweeter melody. Balph looked through the 
doorway and saw that she was alone ; he went in and stood 
beside her. “ Madie, I want to thank you for your songs 
and for your revelation of faith. I think I shall never be 
sceptical again, although I have been a few times in my 
life.” 


“ Why, Ealph, you speak as if you liked me,” she 
cried. 

Like you, Madie!” He stopped suddenly. His first 
impulse had been to tell her how the thought of her 
had been woven in with his plans through years of danger 
and years of peace, but he thought of his resolution on 
that first evening. “ Like you, little sister, never doubt 
it, no matter what comes, do not be afraid to tell your ‘big 
brother’ everything,” jestingly, lest she should under- 
stand more of his feelings than he wished. His words 
made the warm-hearted girl very happy. 


Mrs. Burton seemed to be anxious to postpone the fish- 
ing excursion indefinitely. Monday, she “ could not spare 
her daughters.” Tuesday, she was “ anxious to have a 
visit with all, at home.” Wednesday, “the baking, and 
Josie must be taken care of.” Thursday, another ex- 
cuse was given. “You may go to-morrow, I solemnly 
promise,” she said, noticing the disappointment which all 
were striving to hide. 

Mr. Burton went to the village. “ I never knew Uncle 
Frank to travel around so much before, I wonder if he 


130 


jack’s afire, 


isn’t trying for some office,” said Ned. “I believe I’ll go 
and visit with Annt Bell.” He found her preparing des- 
sert for dinner. 

“ This pudding used to be a favorite of Sada’s. I won- 
der if it would be now!” She glanced from the window 
while she was speaking; “Frank is coming, and there is a 
lady with him. Will you please go out and meet them? 
I am busy, you see.” Ned obediently went. 

Mr. Burton had already assisted his companion to 
alight, and the tall, stylish lady was coming toward the 
house. “They never told me Ned was here,” she said 
aloud, though there was no one to hear her. 

He hurried forward. “Sada!” It was a brief speech, 
but voice and smile were eloquently expressive. 

Mrs. Burton met them at the door. “My dear, I am 
very glad indeed to see you! go into the parlor quietly.” 

They were trying a new piece of music ; a shadow fell 
across the keys. Madie looked up, “Sada Lee!” The 
music was on the floor and Sada was surrounded. 

“Children, do let her have time to breathe,” said Mrs. 
Burton. 

“Mamma, you knew it all the time!” 

“I must confess that I did. I wanted to see you all to- 
gether, so Frank telegraphed for her to come now, instead 
of waiting until fall, as she intended doing.” 

“ Aunt Bell, you are the most considerate person I 
ever knew.” 

“ I hope that you have forgiven me, Phil, for postponing 
your fishing party until the last arrival.” 

“Indeed I have. But I did think that you were acting 
queerly.” 

“ So I was, yet there was a reason for it.” 

“Listen!” said Christa. “Bert or Benjie is hurt!” 

They went to the door in time to see both boys drag- 
ging a small curly-headed youth to the house. 

“Be careful, my sons! Harry is a little boy and is not 
accustomed to such treatment.” 

“ He says he is just as glad as we are,” said Benjie, 
and he certainly looked pleased. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


131 


“Well,” said Phil, “I shall not be surprised at any- 
thing after this; if all my relatives would walk in, I 
should only say, ‘just as I expected.’” 

“Mrs. Burton goes on the plan, ‘the more the mer- 
rier.’ ” 

“Yes, Ralph, when they are congenial, and I think this 
party is.” 

The events of the years of absence were recapitulated. 
“I thought I had written everything, but it seems that I 
did not give an outline,” said Sada. 

Josie came into the room in her uncertain baby way. 
“Whom does she resemble?” Sada took her up as she 
spoke, and looked into the blue eyes so earnestly study- 
ing her face. Who has not felt the close scrutiny of a 
baby’s eyes? “See, she is going fco take me on trust!” 
as baby laid her head contentedly back on her shoulder. 

“ She has the same way of looking at one, that Madie 
had when she was small,” said Ned. 

“ I think Madie has the same childish look now,” said 
Sada, speaking in a low tone, that Madie might not hear. 


132 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XVTL 

PLEASANT DAYS AND PEOPLE TO MATCH. 

Eobert Peyton joined his friends early the next morn- 
ing, and eight happy young people started for the river. 

“I will stay on shore,” said Madie. “ I cannot bear to 
fish ; it seems so cruel to catch them with a bait ; we take 
advantage of their trust, and I can’t do that, either with 
men or animals. I shall feel more comfortable here.” 

The others argued and coaxed in vain. “I would do 
almost anything to please you, but I cannot do this.” 

“I think she is right,” said Sada. “I do not like to 
fish either.” 

“It is so to be, and we ought not to mind,” Christa 
philosophized. 

“I like to fish, and am always delighted to catch one, 
although I do feel a little sorry for them,” declared 
Aggie. 

“Those who are eager ‘to try a fisherman’s luck’ will 
please take this boat; the rest of you can ‘row down 
the river in that little red canoe,’ ” and Phil reached to 
help Aggie into the first boat, Eobert assisted Christa 
and the four rowed away from the bank. 

“Meet us at the bluff for luncheon,” called Madie. 

‘Girlie,” said Ned, speaking to his cousin, “you are 
the only one familiar with the scenery along this river. 
Where shall we go?” 

“I think it is very pretty on the lake, and the Bluff is 
to be our destination, so we had better row in that direc- 
tion.” 

It was only a widening of Silver Eiver, but the steep, 
rocky banks of gray limestone made a picturesque view. 

“I shall make a heavy deposit in Memory to-day. Its 
golden treasures will gild many a solitary hour,” Ealph 
said, in a tone of quiet content. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


133 


They rowed close to the shore; the waves were on their 
good behavior and allowed the rocks “to receive,” but 
there were many days when it would be impossible 
for a boat to venture near the headland without being 
dashed to pieces ; when the waves would lose all control 
of themselves and berate the rocks in thunder tones. 
They rowed fearlessly up to them and noted the deep 
indentures, a voiceless proof that “constant dropping 
wears away stone listened to the musical ripple of the 
waves as they glided in and out of the cavern, as if try- 
ing to embrace the gray old rock. 

“ See the waves go up in such a persistent way, as if to say 
to that overhanging rock, ‘youTl yield this time;’ then 
glide back and return again, and there is a place where a 
portion of the bank has fallen into the water, and the 
waves are rejoicing over the victory they have struggled 
years to gain.” 

“Yes, Madie, and I see that that great rock is as little 
affected by the wavelets going and coming as this great 
world would be if I should drop out of existence to-day, a 
little mark and moisture for a time ; then all would be as 
before.” 

“Why, Ned, how solemn you are to-day,” said Sada, 
with a sympathetic look. They moored their boat and 
climbed the steep bank, gathering many a souvenir of 
moss and rock. “I wish I might get a view of this scene 
‘to have and to hold forever.’” 

“When Christa has taken lessons I am sure she will 
sketch it for you willingly. I would if I could, but I 
have no talent in that direction; my grass looks like 
needles, and my sky like blue cambric. So you see it 
would never do for me to make the attempt, even to please 
you, Sada.” 

Ned and Sada strolled along the bank; Madie sat down, 
and taking off her hat, leaned her head against the trunk 
of a larere oak. The waves murmured on in a contented 

o 

monotone. 

“What makes you so quiet?” Ealph asked, after a 
pause. 


134 


jack’s afire, 


“I don’t know; such a day as this I am always dumb. 
I shall think of so many things when you are gone that I 
failed to say to you.” 

“I believe we do procrastinate in conversation as much 
as anything. What is it you wished to say, something of 
the past? ” 

“No, I think not. The days have been very monoto- 
nous, and yet, no two were exactly alike ; each brought a 
new thought, word, or deed to distinguish it from the others. 
Some daj^s have seemed so much like nothing to me that 
I have felt as if I ought to label them that they might not 
be entirely forgotten.” 

“Uneventful days, or those that seemed so while they 
were passing, have often come back to me with many rec- 
ollections. I see a particular view that I did not notice at 
the time, but it must have made an impression upon my 
mind’s eye, for I can recall both time and place; a turn in 
a road, an odor, or some jesting word, have caused me to 
live again a number of so-called monotonous days, but the 
memory of which I heartily enjoy.” 

“ Hal-l-o-o-o! ” 

“ That is Phil’s shout,” said Madie, springing to her feet 
and waving her hat. 

“Here are the hungry fishermen. Come!” Ralph’s 
call brought Sada and Ned to the bank. 

“Let us build a fire and roast our fish on forked sticks, 
just as we read of,” said Phil, gathering bits of dry wood 
together. 

“ Each take apiece,” said Aggie, who was enjoying the 
day immensely. The wind blew the ashes in their faces, 
but each one succeeded in roasting a slice of fish. 

“ Are ashes healthy ? ” inquired Robert Peyton of the 
Doctor. 

“ Yes, when mixed with grease and water,” was the re- 

ply- 

“They make a poor eye-water , said Aggie, giving a 
double meaning to the words, as she wiped the tears 
away. 

“ Prescribe for us, Phil,” said Ned. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


135 


“ Plenty of out-door exercise is good where the heart is 
afPected.” 

Such a luncheon as they haa, on that point overlook- 
ing the river. 

“ To-morrow you girls will have a chance to emulate 
Maud Muller,” said Ned; “ for we are going to 

‘ Rake the meadow o’er with hay. ’ ” 

“ I shall not be here, and I doubt about the Judge’s put- 
ting in an appearance,” said Aggie. 

“ I think that is a sweet poem.” 

“Yes, Sada ; it is sweet, but you must own that the Judge 
and Maud, both, were very susceptible, and he was de- 
cidedly selfish.” 

“The last stanza will live as long as our language lives,” 
said Ned, quoting it in his deep, rich voice 

“ Madie, please repeat that selection from the Vision 
of Sir Launfaly that you learned before school closed — 

‘ And what is so rare as a day in June ? ’ ” 

Madie recited the poem as Christa requested. 

“That is beautiful! It fits the time and place. Nature 
stands near to listen to the words of praise given her,” 
said Ealph, when she had finished. 

“Here we are, above it all. It is nice to climb up and 
look down on everything ; although it never looks so nice 
when we are in the midst of it. Life may look very bright 
to us when we look back or down upon it, but it seems 
very tame just now.” 

“Eobert,” said Phil, wringing his hands, “I beg of 
you, do not talk protoplasm nor molecular force, nor the 
whenness nor wliatness of anything. Let us be plain, 
common people, for one day, at least. I don’t feel a par- 
ticle like soaring. We must get our party together and 
go in search of a few more of the finny tribe to take 
home with us. Madie, I see, eats fish!” 

“I do, but I will not catch them. Call me inconsist- 
ent, if you wish. I shall not mind it at all. I cannot 
kill any harmless animal, nor stand by and see it killed.” 

“We accept your explanation, and you are welcome to 


136 


jack’s AFIllE, 


a full share of the spoils,” said Kobert, as they went back 
to the boat. 

“We will meet you at the landing where we started, at 
sundown,” said Phil. 

Ned and Sada were again separated from the two who 
remained on shore. 

Madie told her former teacher of the Torch she was 
bearing. “I wish you the utmost success If your 
little brand ever grows dim, let me know and I will assist 
you.” 

“I think I shall be able to do considerable with my 
next year’s salary, and my gift the other night; everyone 
is very kind to me ; there is no reason why I should not 
be successful.” 

“ Sometime I shall take you and shield you from every 
sorrow and care, as far as it lies in human power to do 
so,” was his unspoken thought. Madie was happy to 
renew her old time intimacy with this friend, and the 
afternoon was long remembered by both. 

“ How nice it is to get out in the country and see the 
real of it all,” Sada said, when they had reached the 
shade of the woods. “I have been glad ever since I 
came.” 

“I am very glad, too. I was afraid it would be years 
before I could see you, and it seemed such a long time 
since we parted. Have you forgotten what I said then?” 

Sada‘‘s answer was very indistinct, but Ned gathered from 
it that she was not forgetful. 

“I am poor, dear, and it may take years to make a 
home for you. I do not want you to step from affluence 
to poverty. You have been accustomed to gay society and 
to being surrounded by wealth. Maybe it is wrong to 
ask you to be my wife when you might do so much better. 
I do not want you to come to me and regret it afterward, 
but with ‘something to work for, someone to love,’ I will 
be more of a man, Sada. AYe are both alone in the world, 
dear.” 

“Not if we are together,” she said, looking at him 
bravely; and for these two, there was a “new heaven and a 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


137 


new earth.” “I do not care for poverty at all. My mother 
used to be happy before father enlisted, and they had noth- 
ing.” 

“ You have met so many brilliant men in society, I 
wonder that you have kept faith Avith me.” 

Sada told him of Mr. Yonge, but Avithheld the name. 
“You might meet him sometime, and perhaps both would 
feel uncomfortable. I have no patience with a Avoman 
who holds up her offers for the world’s inspection ; if she 
cannot say yes, she can keep his secret, and retain his re- 
spect. Now, Ned, have you no confession to make?” 

“I first fell in love with an ideal. 1 think that is of fre- 
quent occurrence; the great obje3tion is, that one is apt to 
vestthe first one he meets Avith the quality his ideal possesses, 
when in reality she is nothing of the sort, and the mis- 
take is discovered too late. I was sick in the hospital, 
and was cared for by a sweet, sad-eyed woman ; before I 
left she was taken ill. I was with her when she died. 
She showed me a picture of one of her daughters, the 
peaceful, young face rested me. That mother’s one 
thought was for her children. I said to her, ‘ I never 
knew your daughter very well, but if she is all her face 
reveals to me, she shall be all in all to me, if I suit her as 
well. I promise you this, that I will at any rate, be as a 
brother to all your family for your sake.’ I think that my 
promise, AK)luntarily given, helped to make her last hours 
peaceful. I have carried the miniature ever since. See, 
Sada.” She was looking at her own face, taken years ago. 

“Oh, Ned, it was mamma! Why did you not tell me 
before ? ” 

“Because she gave me this letter to give to you, and I 
would not give it unless sure of your love. I could not 
offer it as a bribe.” The words were penned in a trem- 
bling hand: 

‘‘Sada, Dear Child: 

Ned has been very good to me. If he should ask you, 
some day, a question that would involve the happiness of 
both, answer as you will, my blessing will be Avith you 
always, but he is, although young, a man any woman could 


138 


jack’s afike, 


trust, and someone will love him. I hope it may be my 
daughter. May God help my darlings! is the last 
prayer of Youk Loving Mother.” 

Sada was sobbing, and Ned was trying to comfort her. 
“ I wonder if she knows 1 ” 

“ I believe she does, for if we do not carry a knowledge 
and memory of this world into the next, the matter of re- 
ward and punishment would be unappreciated. I have 
expressed myself vaguely, and though I have not finished, 
I had better stop. I cannot explain my belief, but it is, 
nevertheless, a belief.” 

They went back to the others, and rowed up the river ; 
the fishing party were waiting for them, and all started 
homeward when the birds were singing their sleepy songs. 

The moon rose, as soon as the sun had passed from 
sight. “If I were to order the nicest thing in nature, I 
would have a full moon in attendance every night,” said 
Phil, walking along, hat in hand. 

A stranger seeing the party, not walking, but strag- 
gling, would have known that they were returning from 
some place ; they did not walk with purpose enough to in- 
dicate that they had an object in view. People have a 
different expression and gait in going to a place, especially 
of amusement, than they have on returning. 

“ Did you have a nice time, Aggie? ” enquired Madie. 

“Splendid! We fished, and laughed and^joked and 
told stories. Robert would get poetical once in a while, 
but the rest of us were not at all sober ; we didn’t intend 
to be.” 

The children came to meet them, and Mrs. Burton, with 
baby in her arms, called out a welcome. “It has been a 
perfect day,” all agreed. 

“I am glad to hear it,” she said pleasantly. 

“ Did you catch anything, Phil? ” Ned asked. 

“Yes, did you?” and he gave his cousin a meaning 
look. Was it the last ray of sunset that illuminated his 
and Sada’s faces? “The wind burns dreadfully to-day; 
we are not nearly as fair as we were this morning,” Phil 
added. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


139 


Even grave Robert laughed atthis last thrust. “ What 
do you mean?” demanded Ned, both vexed and amused. 

“ Come, let us sing ‘All together, once, once again,’ ” 
said Madie, noticing Sada’s embarrassment. 

“Now, Aggie, we ought to go; mother will be looking 
•for us.” 

“We will all ‘celebrate’ together,” said Mrs. Burton. 

“Aunt Bell, we surely must take our departure before 
the Fourth,” declared Ned. 

“ But the Fourth is Tuesday, and we cannot let you go 
until the last of next week, anyway. Sada has come so 
far and has only been here one day.” 

“ That fetches me,” said Phil, sentimentally. “ I hope 
it will have a salutary effect on Edwin.” 

“ Yt^'e will try to make it interesting for all, fire- works 
and speeches, etc. ; ” and Aggie rose to go. 

“ That reminds me of one of my pupils in Greek, instead 
of inflecting the verbs and pronouns through, he would 
start them, and add etc.” 

“Did you mark him at all?” Robert asked. 

“Oh, certainly,” replied Ralph. “I thought such faith 
should be rewarded. He seemed to think there was such 
a perfect understanding between us, or he was so certain 
that if he didn’t know, I did, that I managed to pass 
him.” 

“You must all come and spend the day with us,” said 
Robert. 

“Yes, we will, and you must come out here again. 
Good night.” 

‘ Good by.” 

“ This has been a very full day;” Phil suppressed a 
yawn as he spoke. 

“ You remind me of what Harry said, one evening last 
spring; he came running in after he had been playing 
hard all day. ‘ Sada, I’m so tiled. I can feel it run 
from my head to my feet.’ ” 

“ I think we all appreciate the remark,” said Madie. 

“ To-morrow you young people must rest ; a quiet hoi- 


140 


jack's afire. 


iday in the woods; one day in the city. What other- 
plans?” enquired the hostess. 

“ I have one request to make: Please invite the people 
that we rode out with when we came, to spend a day 
with us. I enjoyed that woman’s conversation so much 
that evening.” 

“ Certainly, Ned,” Mrs. Burton answered. He had 
recalled his boyhood to her, in his manner of putting the 
request, and the recollection was pleasant. “Mrs. Crowan 
will come, I am sure.” 

The days following were not monotonous. When were 
days ever that, with a party of happy young people? It 
did not take Mrs. Burton long to discover Ned’s and Sada’s 
secret. “I am very glad they are suited to and love each 
other; that is all that is necessary. Be careful, Phil, 
not to tease them.” 

“I will not say anything before Sada, but I must say a 
little to Ned. He is glad to tease me whenever he can 
get a chance. I can see now why he never cared for 
girls’ society at school. Aunt Bell, would it be very bad 
to give him a gentle reminder occasionally, if I do it in a 
cheerful way?” 

“ Oh, Phil, you’ll find the reality some time.” 

“ I can’t see why it is,” he said, sobering suddenly ; 
“love and matrimony are sacred subjects, and yet even 
sensible people make the most ridiculous, flippant, irrev- 
erent remarks concerning them. A wedding is a very 
solemn affair, at least mine would be; my sympathies 
would be drawn upon so largely for the bride.” 

“You are incorrigible!” said Mrs. Burton; and the 
subject was dropped. 

The day at Mr. Peyton’s was thoroughly enjoyed by 
all. Mrs. Peyton loved to entertain, and eagerly took 
advantage of this opportunity. While they were in the 
midst of an animated conversation, the door bell rang. 
Aggie ushered a lady into the front parlor. “Excuse me, 
I didn’t expect to see such a number of people,” she said 
in a low tone, as she caught a glimpse of the company in 
the next room. “I am returning your call early, but I 


OB, THE BURTON TORCH. 


141 


learned from my friend that Miss Burton was here, and I 
am so anxious to meet her that I came directly over.” 

“I am very glad you have come, and I am sure that 
Madie will be pleased to see you. She has spoken of you 
so many times since we met you that day in the woods.” 

She called Madie from the back parlor and introduced 
her to Miss Cragie. “ I have been eager to see you ever 
since commencement. 1 remembered meeting you the week 
before, and your saying that you liked me;” adding with a 
bright smile, “I was either egotistical enough or had 
sufficient confidence in you to believe it. I have been 
visiting Mrs. Boby, an old friend of my mother’s, and 
resting from my work. I think the task of re-creation 
will take all summer.” She analyzed the word in her pro- 
nunciation of it. Madie was as charmed as a young 
girl generally is with the notice of one older than herself. 

“Miss Peyton called on me yesterday, and I am in 
haste to continue the acquaintance. She mentioned your 
excursion, and it made me desirous of seeing the delight- 
ful places she described. I thought, perhaps, your sister 
would allow me to give her a few lessons in sketching. It 
would be a positive deed of charity, for I have been ac- 
customed to a busy life and cannot endure real hard 
resting.” 

Miss Cragie was a thorough business woman, and ex- 
hibited it in her conversation. She was possessed of 
native politeness within and without, not veneered with it 
as many fashionable people are. She had not passed be- 
yond her first quarter century; yet she had lived more 
than many much older. Because she was one of the 
world’s workers herself, she was ever willing to reach 
forth a helping hand to those of her own sex who needed 
aid. The openly expressed admiration of Madie had 
touched a responsive chord in her own nature. 

She was often looked upon coldly by women, and called 
so queer,” as if honest independence were a quality 
a girl should scorn to possess. Kespected by men 
who greeted her as a co-worker ; never petting and seldom 
praising her, because she did not seem to need either; 


142 


jack’s afiee, 


yet, with all a woman’s love of appreciation, this girl stood 
alone in the world, doing a ma?i’s work for a woman's wages, 
and had to be satisfied. But I will not keep the reader 
longer from Madie’s reply to the kind offer. 

“I know your generous words will make my sister very 
happy.” 

“ Do not try to thank me; I shall be glad to practice a 
little for my own benefit. I wanted to tell both you girls 
that I enjoyed your essays, they were original and that is 
a good deal to say for a production of to day.” 

“ There have been so many good things said and done 
for me in the past week, that I do not know how to ex- 
press myself. I wish I had a table to measure thankful- 
ness by,” said Madie. 

Miss Cragie saw the tears in her eyes. “ I think you 
will be able to measure it all,” she said, as she arose. 

“Let me bring my sister to you, please.” 

“ Why, yes; I was not aware that she was with you.” 

Christa soon felt at ease with the stranger. 

“ Let me introduce you to all my friends,” said Aggie 
impulsively. 

“Are they all here?” she asked, smiling. 

“ My best friends are.” 

“ Then I shall be delighted to see them, they must be 
worth knowing.” Easy and self-possessed, without a par- 
ticle of mannerism, she met all; and not one felt strange 
with this stranger. 

When she had gone, Christa said: “It seems as if I 
had been acquainted with her along time.” 

“ Madie completely won her, by telling her she liked 
her, the first time they met,” said Aggie. 

“ I didn’t know that was the proper way to do,” said 
Phil, “ or I would have said the same.” 


Oli, THE BURTON TORCH. 


143 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

THE DAY WE CELEBRATE. 

The Fourth was ushered in with the usual noise and 
commotion. “ I do not enjoy the day at all,” said Mrs. 
Burton, as she and Mrs. Crowan were getting the lunch 
baskets ready. “ Still, we must teach our children to be 
patriotic, and we ought to go and hear the speeches.” 

“ Well, we must take the speech with the heat, and tire, 
and dust, and smell of fire-crackers thrown in. We got 
started a little late, but we will get there in time to hear 
the speeches, if we do miss the declaration; no one ever 
listens to that anyhow, and they ought to, I suppose. They’ll 
have a girl with a flag around her, and she’ll sing The 
Star Spangled Banner; good enough piece, and it always 
makes me want to hurrah when I hear it. For all that, I 
can’t enjoy it quite as well as I would if I didn’t know ex- 
actly what was coming right along through the whole pro- 
gramme. Now, there’s the speaker, he’ll begin way back 
with John Smith, and he’ll mention every chapter in history, 
from the Captain’s time down to to-day, and we’ll all fol- 
low him, and cheer like mad, and feel as proud, just as we 
ought to, of course ; and to-morrow I’ll say ‘ I don’t be- 
lieve I’ll go to another celebration very soon,’ and I won’t 
for a year, then I’ll go through the whole performance 
again.” 

Phil and Ned telegraphed a look to their aunt, who un- 
derstood. “We are going to have a quiet afternoon in 
the woods, couldn’t you come, too?” 

“Just as John says. But he’ll say, ‘just as I say;’ if 
you was calculating on having a day all by yourselves, 
we’d better not come. We stopped because we knew you 
would have more than you could carry.” 

“We all desire your company, and are thankful for your 
thoughtful kindness,” said Mrs. Burton. 


144 


jack’s afire, 


Robert Peyton came to Ned when they reached the vil- 
lage, and said in a half whisper: “I’ll go up with you. 
The president is waiting. I’ll be back in just a minute, 
Sada.” 

“What does that mean?” asked Madie. But Ralph 
was busy with the children, and Phil was innocence itself. 

“That was a little overdone,” whispered Aggie, as she 
joined them. 

The procession was ready to start, when Robert came 
and seated himself beside Sada. Too proud to show her 
astonishment, she could not but wonder at Ned’s sudden 
desertion. Arriving at the grounds, Robert secured good 
seats for the entire party near the platform. The band 
played Hail Columbia^ “Pm just as glad as can be 
that I’m an American,” said Mrs. Crowan. 

“So am I,” Phil agreed. “These national airs are 
enough to make anyone enthusiastic.” 

“Is Ned going to read the Declaration of Independ- 
ence?” Madie enquired. For the first time in his life, 
Ralph ignored her question. 

Ned was on the platform, but the paper signed by Jeff- 
erson and Adams, and all those other honored names, was 
“read by an esteemed townsman. ” The “Star Spangled 
Banner” was sung, not by one, but several young ladies. 
The president stepped forward. “ I am pleased to intro- 
duce to you, ladies and gentlemen, a young man from an 
eastern college — or at least it seems eastern to us, al- 
though but a short time has elapsed since that state and 
her institutions was thought to be in the far west — a young 
man who has carried a musket, and belonged to the ‘ grand- 
est army that ever marched to battle.’ He was invited to 
speak very recently, but I do not think any apology nec- 
essary. I have the honor to present E. C. Philips, who 
will now deliver the oration.” 

“ What a pity we ‘ can’t all be corporals,’ ” Phil whis- 
pered. 

“ Dear me, but I’ve done it, going on as I did about 
4th of Julies!” gasped Mrs. Crowan. 

“Ned will not mind it at all,” said Mrs. Burton reassur- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


145 


ingly. Sada mentally begged his pardon for wronging 
him in thought, and listened proudly to the speech. He 
did not recapitulate history, but spoke of his country’s 
present, her future and her needs. 

“Were you ashamed of me?” ^^^ed asked, when he 
found Sada. 

“No, indeed, I was very proud! But do not go way be- 
yond me, Ned,” she answered humbly. 

“I cannot leave my heart behind, so you must walk 
with me.” 

“Help me to climb, too. Won’t you?” 

“ Yes, when I have reached the heights, where you, in 
your perfect womanhood, stand.” 

“Fire- works don’t commence until later,” said Phil, at 
his elbow. Ned looked at him enquiringly, wondering 
how much of the conversation he had heard. “Not a 
word,” he said, amused at the look which he readily in- 
terpreted. Sada had not heard the monologue. 

Mrs. Crowan came up and in her straightforward man- 
ner said, “Mr. Philips I liked your oration, it was differ- 
ent from the most of them, yet not so different as to make 
us feel disappointed at the change.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Crowan, I feel repaid for the effort 
already.” 

“Shall we go now?” It was Mr. Burton who asked 
the question. Turning to Ned, he said, “I am glad you 
spoke; it was very good,” and Ned knew that this was a 
great deal for his reserved uncle to say. 

“Now we will proceed to celebrate in our own way.” 
Mrs. Burton gave Ned a look that was full of approbation, 
as she said this. 

“No use in staying for wheelbarrow and sack races 
and other like comicalities. I can’t see the patriotism in 
those performances. I can understand why guns are 
fired and flags are waved. A love of country that can be 
heard and seen, but when it comes to races and fire-crack- 
ers, a patriotism is brought in that can be smelled and 
het on. I am at a loss to define the word.” 

“ I wonder what John Haucock, Benjainbi Frajiklin and, 
10 


146 


jack’s afire, 


Roger Sherman would say if they could make their beloved 
country a visit on the afternoon of the ‘glorious 4th.’” 

“Why, Phil, I didn’t know you were on for a speech,” 
said Aggie. 

“I think,” said Mrs. Burton, when thej were at lunch- 
eon, “that we are keeping the day as we ought, for we 
are making it homelike, and that is the very essence of 
patriotism.” 

“How the crowd at one celebration resembles another! 
Sometimes I think ‘there is as much difference in folks 
as in anybody,’ as the old lady observed; and again, I am 
struck by the general alikeness of people.” Ned looked 
appealingly at Mrs. Crowan while he was speaking. He 
and Phil had been aiding Aggie and Madie in their efforts 
to draw that lady into the conversation. 

Her husband was puzzled at her silence. “What is the 
matter, Lizy?” coming around to where she sat. 

“ Nothing, I’m trying to keep quiet before these col- 
lege folks, and its getting to be awful hard work ; it seems 
to me I never did think of so many things to say. I’m 
holding on to myself, but if they don’t stop talking 
about subjects that I have an opinion on, I’ll have to let 
go.” 

“There were some there that I should like to know,” 
said Ralph. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Crowan, for this free interchange of 
thought was more than she could resist, “ there were nice 
faces there, and I don’t believe but what their counte- 
nances was a fair advertisement of themselves. I sat and 
looked at a couple in front of me and their faces showed 
so little character that I was sure I wouldn’t know them when 
I see them again, and 141 remember one face I saw there 
as long as I live.” 

“Describe it,” they all entreated, but she only shook 
her head. 

“I saw a bridal couple there,” Aggie suggested, to con- 
tinue the conversation. 

“They have them at every Fourth of July I was ever 
to. It ain’t polite, though, to make comments on people ; 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


147 


only in a general way.” Mrs Crowan began to gather 
the dishes together. 

The young people strolled away; Madie alone was sep- 
arated from the others. She went along the river bank, 
thinking so earnestly that she was not aware of the dis- 
tance she was leaving between her people and herself, for 
some time. When she turned, she was beyond the sound 
of their voices. “How rude they will think I am,” she 
thought, as she hurried on. “I’ll steal up behind 
them.’ 

There were her companions, and, farther on, the fath- 
ers and mothers were visiting together, the children were 
wading in the clear water ; she remembered afterward how 
their voices sounded. Baby Josie was sleeping on a 
shawl spread on the grass, while Balph was fanning her 
with his hat. As Madie stood there, ready to bound out 
from her hiding-place, a head was lifted from the grass, 
and two gleaming eyes shown out, close to Balph, close to 
dear little Josie! How long was it that Madie watched 
that sinuous movement in the grass, so near to baby’s 
white arm, and to Balph’s, just above it? His thoughts 
so far away and danger so near! The head was lifted 
higher. “Balph, Josie!” the voice was hoarse with fear, 
but the spell was broken; she bounded forward; ere 
the call had roused the others, Balph turned to see her 
standing on an immense rattlesnake, crushing the head 
with her tiny heel, while the body was writhing around 
her feet. 

Quick to think and to act, Phil realized all, and, with 
long leaps came down on the reptile, just as Balph took 
her in his arms. “Madie, darling, what if he had bitten 
you?” His face blanched as hers had done. 

“They are all coming up,” said Phil, in a warning 
tone. 

“What is the matter?” Phil briefly explained to 
them. “ If she ain’t the bravest little creeter,” said John 
Crowan. 

Madie, weak and trembling, turned from Balph’s pro- 
tecting arm, and reached toward her mother. “Mamma’s 


148 


jack’s afire, 


brave little girl,” Mrs. Burton said brokenly, as she took 
her in her loving arms. 

“ Don’t ask any questions. Leave her, she’ll be bet- 
ter quiet,” Phil advised, and they went away, leaving her 
with her parents. 

“ How did it happen?” Christa asked, when they were 
at a safe distance. 

“ I had started to find Madie, and caught sight of her 
coming back. She was stealing along to surprise the 
others, so I thought to surprise her. I saw her stop and 
stand so very still. I wondered why. I saw the snake 
just as she sprang toward it.” 

“ Well, I’m glad the low-lived thing is dead! ” ejacu- 
lated Mr. Crowan. 

Madie lay with her eyes closed, and an occasional shud- 
der passed over her. She opened her eyes after a time, 
and looked arpund, as if in search of someone. Ned, who 
had come back to her, understood and put Josie be- 
side her. She smiled faintly at the little one, who was 
rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her little fat fists. 
She did not seem to be quite satisfied yet. Ned beckoned 
to Kalph, who came quickly, followed by the rest ; kneel- 
ing beside her, he took the little hand in his and pressed 
his lips to the white forehead. “ My brave little friend! ” 
Phil and Ned noticed that he did not call her sister again. 

Mr. Peyton had thoughtfully removed the snake. 

“ Let us have one row on the river, it will benefit every- 
one,” said Phil, anxious to change the tenor of their 
thoughts. 

“ Perhaps Madie will not care to go; if she does not, I 
will stay with her.” 

“No, Sada, I am able and willing to go, and it will 
not trouble me at all.” 

“True to her colors,” muttered Mrs. Crowan. 

“ Nothing is ever any trouble to Madie,” said Aggie. 

“ When I say that it is no trouble to me, I mean that it 
is less trouble than it would be to tell you I could not go, 
and so make the rest of you uncomfortable over that which 
might be bettered, I know me better than any other one 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


149 


and that I am willing to do a great deal for the happiness 
of each one of yon. If I kept yon from going I shonld 
feel sorry for yon and me, too. Making it nnpleasant for 
all, instead of one. In this instance it will be nice for 
everyone.” She had risen as she spoke and was tying 
on her hat. 

“ She is well enongh to preach, so we will let her prac- 
tice,” said Ned, while Ralph led her carefully to the boat. 

“ How mnch he does think of her,” said Sada. 

“ Yes, and has for years,” Ned replied, “bnt she doesn’t 
imagine it, perhaps never will.” 

“I think she will some day,” was the confident rejoin- 
der. 

Ralph watched the pale face as they floated down the 
river, and thonght of her bravery. “One thing more to 
admire, and be grateful to her for.” 

They talked, and laughed, and sang. Each one strove 
to make Madie forget the terror of the afternoon. Phil 
was considerate and led the gay conversation. Robert 
marveled at his versatility of talent. 

“ He is as contradictory in his character as most women 
are. I have wondered if he would make a good physician, 
but I never shall again ; tact, talent, cheerfulness and ten- 
derness. He will do,” was his silent decision. 

Arriving at the picnic grounds, they separated, taking 
with them, “all the tire thrown in” that Mrs. Crowan 
had projnised them in the morning. 


150 


jack’s afike, 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

FACTS AND PHOTOGRAPHS. 

They met once more at the Crowan homestead. “ Come 
all of you, and if there isn’t room inside there will be 
out,” were Mrs. Crowan’s parting words, the evening of 
the Fourth. So they all went. 

Phil had the photographs of his classmates and friends 
with him and exhibited them to his hostess. 

“Are you good at delineating character ? ” he asked as he 
handed Marvin’s shadow to her. 

“Yes, when there is any to delineate,” she replied, after 
she had given it a critical examination. 

“Yery good,” said Phil. 

“ I never had my picture taken, but by the looks of 
some of these people here, it must be a painful operation ; 
they have such a resigned, hopeless expression.” 

Some of the faces were young and pretty, and some 
were undeniably plain. Photography was a truthful bus- 
iness at that time, and not a flattering art, as it is to-day. 
With extra touches and retouches and shading every- 
one is handsome when exhibited in a photograph gallery, 
and one can form little idea of the original from the cab- 
inet or panel that he holds in his hand. Then men took 
people as they really were. Now an artist finishes them 
off as he thinks they ought to be. A change from the 
real to the ideal. 

Phil passed his mother’s picture to her. “ I like that; 
you would always feel comfortable with her.” 

“That is Aunt Bell’s sister and my mother, and you 
have described her exactly. Here is a civil engineer. ” 

“ He looks as if he would be civil any place you was a 
mind to put him.” 

“ He is my only brother.” 


OR, THE EUHTON TORCH. 


151 


“Too bad a quality don’t always run tlirougli the fam- 
ily.” Phil laughed at the quick retort. 

“People always joke with him and me. I suppose be- 
cause we are apt to return the favor and do not get of- 
fended,” said Ned, who was enjoying the dialogue. 

“ There! ” said Mrs. Crowan, “ if I were ever in trouble 
and needed a friend, I would go to that man.” 

“That is Uncle Joe.” 

“ Well, you ought to be very good! You have some 
fine looking relations.” 

“I think so. They are fine acting, too. I claim to be 
good by hereditary descent.” 

“ I should hate dreadfully to have that girl visit me un- 
less I knew she was coming, and could prepare for it be- 
forehand. She’d spy out every bit of dirt, I know. I’ll 
warrant she embroiders and does all kinds of fancy work.” 

“Carrie, isn’t it?” Ealph asked, and Phil nodded. 

“See here! I’ve said too much already. You don’t 
seem to have much beside relations here ; and I might 
not like the looks of all of them, so I had better stop.” 

“Oh, no, go on, I’m thoroughly satisfied,” and Phil 
hurried to another. 

“Is he a relative of yours?” 

“ He was only in the medical class for a little while. I 
didn’t know him very well.” 

“ I don’t believe you ever would. He has a very un- 
comfortable look to me. Now here is one who has had so 
much sunshine in her life that it can be seen at a glance. 
She has the regular photograph smile, and there is no 
deep thought behind it.” 

“That is another fair estimate,” said Phil encourag- 
ingly. 

“What a sweet old face! ‘Heaven just a little further 
on, follow me!’ is what it seems to say. She looks like 
my mother,” and the black eyes filled suddenly. 

“I boarded with her last year. Mrs. Gay’s face is a 
fair exponent of her character. Here are the college 
professors.” 

“ I believe I could have guessed what they were. Earn- 


152 


jack’s afire, 


est workers and specialists. There is a bit of the ‘ earth, 
earthy’ here, and this is a man that was a boy once, and 
he never has forgotten it.” Phil was pleased with this 
comment on his favorite professor. 

“ Theirs is rather a humdrum life; ushering one class 
after another in and out ; listening to the same recitations 
year after year; explaining and answering questions; but 
most of those men would handle a subject or a book as if 
they loved it.” 

“Those were the successful teachers,” said Mrs. Bur- 
ton positively. 

“Well, I had almost forgotten that you were my com- 
pany.” 

“Just one more, please.” 

“Born under a mistake, and never righted it yet. 
She’ll know of all your failures and short comings, long 
before she will your good qualities. I believe she’ll al- 
ways be doubtful of your having any of them. Don’t tell 
me she is a near relative!” and Mrs. Crowan laid Aunt 
Sarah’s card on the table and hurried away. 

“It is strange how much one can learn from observa- 
tion,” said Ralph; “how much she must have noticed and 
thought.” 

“We settlers have been drawn very near to each other. 
I have always been glad that these friends were located 
in our vicinity,” Mrs. Burton said. 

“She’s as keen as the proverbial lawyer,” laughed 
Ned. 

“We have had a very nice visit,” was the general re- 
mark on the homeward trip. 

“ And such a nice supper,” said Mrs. Peyton, compla- 
cently. 

“I hate last days!” said Madie, almost petulantly, “in 
school or anywhere. There never were hills without hol- 
lows between, and never a meeting that was not followed 
by a parting, and I am way down in the hollow.” 

Mrs. Burton had a long talk with each of her guests ; 
congratulating and encouraging Ned and Sada, giving 
Ralph a good word to carry with him into the future, and 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


15a 


talking over Phil’s plans with him. “It is a work that 
gives one a chance to do a great deal of good. I want you 
to carry your sunny disposition right along with you.” 

“I like my profession, yet it will worry me aAvfully to 
lose a patient. I enjoy fun, but I never could joke about 
‘stiffs,’ as some of them did; those ‘subjects’ were dear 
to someone once, though I think the students often talked 
and made light of it to hide the horror and solemnity of 
the dissecting-room ; it was a sort of relief to the over- 
wrought nerves ; some of them claimed to study the human 
body as they would any other machine, but I never could 
quite lose sight of the Motor Power that moved that 
‘machine.’ ” 

“I think doctors should drea 1 to lose a patient, the very 
fear will bring a care for the recovery that nothing else 
would,” said Aunt Bell, as the others came into the room. 

“We will try to come again, in four years,” Ned prom- 
ised for all. 

“We’ve been children for a week! I mean to be a 
child every time I get a chance,” Phil declared. 

“We must not come too often,” said Ralph sadly. 

“I don’t see why it isn’t the properest thing in the 
world to go and see folks you like, just as often as you 
want to,” said Benjie. 

Ned looked at his cousin and smiled. “ You boys have 
been out doors so much, that I have hardly visited with 
you at all.” 

“The idea that real good friends, sensible people at 
that, would be less friendly if they were to see each other 
often. I cannot and will not believe it.” Christa was 
greatly in earnest, and her round face had banished all 
its dimples. “What do you think, Phil?” 

“I haven’t an opinion broad enough to cover the sub- 
ject; these prairie winds hurt my eyes,” he replied, draw- 
ing his hat down. 

“ Wait bravely, Sada 1 When can I come for you, dear ? ” 
asked Ned, in an aside. 

“I shall be ready when you want me.” 

“ It will not be a long separation, then.” 


154 


jack’s afire, 


So they parted again. They watched them as they 
drove away with Mr. Burton, until distance came between 
them. From the hill came one more fluttering farewell, 
and the three had gone to meet the days that were coming 
toward them. Sacla and her little brother stayed a few 
weeks longer with their friends. 

True to her promise. Miss Cragie came and gave Christa 
lessons in sketching, she proving an apt pupil. “I shall 
go back soon,” she said one day as autumn drew near. 
“ I shall be glad to go to work, l3ut I shall always be glad, 
too, of my summer here.” 

She was a reporter on a city daily. Madie, remember- 
ing her Torch, had taken a number of private lessons of 
her energetic friend. “You Avill succeed, I knoAv,” Miss 
Cragie said, over and over again. “I shall see what I can 
do to help you.” 

Again the country was laid waste and the work of a 
year counted as nothing. Many of the settlers, thoroughly 
discouraged, returned to the East. “We couldn’t leave 
if we wanted to, and I presume they’ll run out, most every- 
thing does after a while,” said Mrs. Crowan with a grim 
consolation that brought to Madie’ s mind the story of the 
woman who said, she had “always noticed if she lived 
through dog days that she managed to pull through the 
rest of the year.” 

The fifty dollars given her at commencement went to 
provide for family needs. “ I wonder if my brother 
would have done any better in my j)lace ? ” she thought, 
as she entered the school-room again. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


155 


CHAPTEE XX. 

CHANGES.: IN TIME, PLACE, AND PEOPLE. 

The two years that were waiting in the Future have 
traveled through the Present and are now resting in the 
Past. Madie has been in the school-room during this time 
and Christa has also been in the work, since her gradua- 
tion. 

Ned, Ealph and Eay are in a flourishing mountain city, 
while Phil is practicing his profession in his own home. 

Madie folded the letters she had been reading. “I am 
nearing the fulfillment of my plan. I have thought of it 
so long that I am weary before it is begun, but I shall 
not acknowledge failure until I am sure there can be no 
success.” She went to her best counselor : “Mamma, let 
me finish the ironing, while you read these letters ; Christa, 
come and listen! ” 

The first was from Miss Cragie, stating that she had 
found a situation for her. “You can report in my place, 
and I shall take another position for which I am better 
fitted, because it is more to my liking. Mr. Morris has 
kindly offered to ‘take you on trial.’ Knowing you as 
I do, I consider that this will be a permanent situation, as 
I have not a shadow of doubt in regard to your fitness for 
the work.” This was the portion of the letter which 
most interested Madie. 

The other letter was then read : 

“ My Dear Little Niece: I learn, through our mutual 
friend, that you are coming to the city. Your aunt and 
I wish you to make your home with us. Hattie’s home is 
not far distant, and I think that we, all together, can make 
it pleasant for you. I honor you, my dear, for your en-^ 
deavor to aid your people. You will succeed, I am sure. 
Come as soon as possible, that you may give yourself time 


156 


JACK^S AFIRE, 


to rest before your duties commence. I shall be proud 
to ‘ do the city’ with you, and am expecting to grow young 
again in your society. With love and good wishes, 

I am, your own 

Uncle Joe.” 

“They are both pleasant letters to receive. I am will- 
ing to let you decide for yourself. We will talk with papa 
to-night,” said Mrs. Burton. 

When the plan was presented to Mr. Burton, he ob- 
jected. He invariably did object to any sudden proposal 
of change, especially when it was made by his daughters. 

“I do not like the idea of my daughter’s going out into 
the world. I have received help from Madie already and 
have not been able to pay her. I shall be ashamed to have 
her leave home and go to work.” 

“ Papa, I have been proudly happy to help you. You 
could not help being poor, nor prevent the grasshopper 
raids. If you had gambled or drank it would be different. 
I do not believe you ever did anything that we would 
blush to acknowledge. Let me talk to you just this once, 
as if I were a grown person and your equal. It is hard 
to leave home, but I have a plan, and I hope to see it ful- 
filled. They will not give a woman any but a subordinate 
position in the schools here, and I want to change my 
work. I will not get a man’s wages even then, but I shall 
do better than I can by staying at home and continuing in 
school work. Christa will teach next year ; and, papa” — 

“What is it, Madeline?” seeing that she hesitated. 

“ The farm work is so hard for you and mamma, both. 
Couldn’t you rent the place and move to the village ? I 
would like to see you nicely settled before I go. Christa 
could be at home then, and the boys would have a good 
chance for an education. You will have time to help them 
if you are not overworked. You are nearly as good for 
reference as a cyclopedia. And, papa, if I fail in my un- 
dertakings, please not to say ‘ I told you so ! ’ If it is a 
failure, I can come back and take a primary or interme- 
diate room somewhere. Teaching is always respectable 
work for a girl to do ; most cheap work is. If I am sue- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


157 


cessful, I shall be able to do a great deal for my little 
brothers in a few years.” 

A doubt flashed through Mr. Burton’s mind, as to 
whether a son would have done better than this slender 
girl. . 

They talked soberly, planning and thinking for all. 

“Papa,” said Madie tearfully, “I hate to leave you, 
for I am just beginning to feel acquainted.” 

Busy days followed. At last, one evening in the early 
fall, they found themselves settled comfortably in their 
village home. 

“ I’ve had so much to do that I haven’t had time to feel 
badly over leaving home,” said Madie, as she stepped down 
from the chair into which she had climbed to hang the 
last picture. 

“ There’d be a good many less glooming around if they 
went right to work instead of sitting down and nursing 
the blues,” said Mrs. Crowan, to whom this remark was 
made. “Some folks act as if they liked to be wretched: 
they appear to think that mild melancholy is a poetical 
thing to have. It may be to them that has it, but it’s a 
miserable thing to look at. 

“I think your work shows to good advantage, Madie, and 
the house looks fit to live in from bottom to top. Now, if it 
was mine, I’d have it all unsettled before to-morrow 
night, the pictures would be a little crooked in spite of 
me! I don’t know how you could express it any better 
than to say that I have things lying around convenient. 
I hate dirt, but I always have a room in confusion. Mrs. 
Burton, I can’t see how you’ve done it ; but here you have 
it, just as neat, and there ain’t a room that looks stiff and 
unnatural ; some folks’ houses do look for all the world as 
if they were going to be taken. I hate to see a room with 
a photograph look a good deal worse than I do a person ; 
such houses are about as homelike as a store, everything 
is shelved or tucked away. ‘Home Sweet Home’ would 
sound about as much out of place in such a house as ‘My 
Country ’Tis of Thee,’ would in Spain. 

“ Your house looks as if you were going to live in it and 


158 


jack’s afire, 


everything was put here to be used, see the difference between 
us! You’ve been through all this muss, and you’ve kept 
your face clean, and your hair has been smooth, while I 
have combed my hair a dozen times a day and my face 
has been smut all the time. We’re all made of dirt, but 
it does seem to me as if I showed the original design a 
good deal more than there is any need of.” 

“Mamma, girls! I’ve got a whole lot of mail!” cried 
Benjie. A large square envelope addressed to Mr. and 
Mrs. Burton was opened first: 

Mr. and Mrs. Grenall request the pleasure of your 
company, at the marriage of their niece, 

Sada Lee 

TO 

Edwin C. Philips, 

Thursday, September 20, 18 

At their residence, 1624 Street. 

Ceremony at 8 P. M. 

This was the formal invitation ; but from the western 
city, where Ned was making a home for himself and the 
one he loved so well, and from Sada herself, a long, pleas- 
ant letter came, filled with bright hopes for the future. 
“Ned and I both wish Madie to be bridesmaid ; she is first, 
you know. It was the wish of each to have a quiet cere- 
mony, but my uncle and aunt were determined on a grand 
wedding, and they have been so kind to me that I can 
not refuse them this slight pleasure, especially as I am 
going away from them. I am so happy myself that I am 
Avilling to do all I can to make my friends glad.” 

“I believe she is very happy and I am glad for both, 
as they will have a home of their own. It is a long time 
since either of them has had a real home,” said Mrs. Bur- 
ton. “Madie, you must start a little earlier than you in- 
tended, in order to be with them at that time.” 

“ I wish all could go, mamma.” 

“We must let you represent the family, and content 


OE^ THE BURTON TORCH. 


159 


ourselves by sending some token to them, and inviting 
them to stay with us a few days, when they go to their 
home.” 

“Oh, Madie, how lonely it will be without you. I shall 
have to send my thoughts so far when I think of you, 
that I know I shall feel the distance between us all the 
time,” said Christa disconsolately. 

They were standing at the window, looking at the sun- 
set. Madie was to take the midnight train. “I shall 
come back with my Torch blazing brightly, I hope ; then 
you and I will go into business together. If any of you 
should be sick, send for me right away. Do not wait un- 
til it is too late ; it would be mockery to send for me then.” 
Christa threw her arms around her sister, and sobbed 
aloud. 

Kobert and Aggie came in to say good by, and bring 
their offering for the happy couple. “I don’t .see what 
makes you go; I don’t like the idea one bit,” said Aggie, 
who was grieved at this parting. 

“I’ll write often and come back to you all, in a short 
time,” said Madie, trying to speak bravely. 

She bade her mother good by at home, as Mrs. Burton 
was not going to the train. “I’d rather say these last 
words here,” she said. “ I do not want to come back to the 
empty house and realize that she has gone from us. Be 
careful not to vex Aunt Sarah, and do not mind her 
whims and sharp speeches; she means all right.” 

“I will do my best, mamma darling.” 

Madie exercised the utmost self-control, choking back 
a sob at sight of tears in her father’s eyes, as he found a 
seat for her in the car, and saw that she was comfortably 
settled for her journey. “Write!” was all he could say, 
and she simply nodded. When he had gone she drew her 
veil over her face, and let the hot tears come. But it is not to 
the one leaving home that one should give his entire sympa- 
thy ; there is much to be given to those left behind ; the one 
goes out to meet new faces and new scenes, and the 
novelty of all does much to lessen the lonely feeling ; the 


160 


jack’s afike, 


others are to see the vacant place and the familiar belong- 
ings, a constant reminder of the absent, with no break in 
the monotony. 

Madie felt a touch upon her shoulder, and turned to 
see a sweet, old face, in a frame of silver hair, the soft, 
gray curls caught back on either side, and the sweet blue 
eyes full of kindly light. “ I beg your pardon, my child, 
but would you like to take my pillow for a while ? I have 
been resting all night. I am afraid of a sleeper, and I 
find I can rest about as well here.” Madie was about to 
refuse the generous offer, but the little restless figure was 
bobbing about, making the seat ready for her, and she 
felt that it would be a greater kindness to accept the favor, 
so willingly offered. “ I will only take it for a very little 
while,” she thought. 

‘•There, dear, let us change places.” Madie nestled 
back in the soft cushions ; she had been very busy during 
tliose last days, and was in need of rest. “I hope I have 
arranged it to your liking.” 

“You have, thank you. I know I shall be rested soon, 
but I am afraid it is very selfish for me to take your place.” 

The voice broke into a laugh that was quite girlish. 
“Oh, my dear, don’t think that at all, I am very comfort- 
able where I am; one needs to change position when travel- 
ing. I shall just nod here for a little while, and you will 
rest there,” and the dear old lady smiled again, happy in 
the thought that she had been of service to someone. 

Madie watched the bobbing curls for a few moments, 
then, the fig are swaying to the motion of the train, went 
farther and farther away; the rattle and clank of the en- 
gine sounded fainter and fainter, and for a time the part- 
ing was forgotten. 

A new conductor came aboard ; he was about to hold up 
his lantern and awaken the sleeping girl, when a little, 
trembling hand was put forth. “ Please not to waken her; 
she is very tired, and has a long distance yet to travel; I 
am sure she has a ticket, l)ut I will pay you myself, sir, if 
you doubt it. I think she has just parted from her home 
folks, for she was feeling so badly when she first came. I 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


161 


couldn’t have the heart to bring her back to a realizing 
sense of it all. She is out of it now, and ought to stay out 
until she is rested so that she can bear it better.” 

The conductor smiled at her eagerness. “ Well, ma’am, 
if you can take a stranger on trust like that, I suppose I 
ought to.” The wavy, disarranged hair, the slight figure, 
and the grieved, weary expression of the face resting on 
the little hand, appealed to him. “ She’s all right,” he 
said, so Madie slept on undisturbed. 

The sun came up out of the prairie and sent his bright 
beams abroad ; the day crept into the car ; the passengers 
began to straighten themselves. Madie awoke. 

“ Did you have a nice rest?” enquired her new friend. 

“Very nice, thank you: but I am sorry I slept so long, 
I didn’t mean to. Can’t you rest now?” 

“No, I have been well provided for, and have rested 
quite as well as yourself. Thanks to the conductor.” 

When that gentleman passed through, he received Ma- 
die’ s ticket, and spoke pleasantly to each. “We shall 
stop for breakfast in a short time. I shall be glad to 
assist you if you wish.” 

“ If you please. I have never traveled before, but every- 
one is very kind.” 

“I’ve not traveled very much either, but I haven’t had 
a bit of trouble. I have been to visit my daughter away 
to the Pacific Coast.” 

“ Anyone ought to have his head taken off that would 
even think of being rude to two such women as they are,” 
muttered the conductor. 

“I should like to know your name.” Madie told her. 

“ I wonder if you are any kin to a Burton that I knew a 
few years ago ? He boarded with me while he was in the 
medical college.” 

Madie held out both hands. “ Phil is my own cousin, 
and you are Mrs. Gay! I’ve heard him speak of you so 
many times.” 

After that both felt quite well acquainted, and Madie 
was really sorry when they parted late in the afternoon. 
She watched her from the window and saw the bright 
11 


162 


• jack’s afire, 


curls dancing around, as the owner met a tall gentleman, 
and began talking eagerly, lifting her head and turning 
it to one side like a happy canary. She reached the cor- 
ner, turned and smiled an adieu to her traveling compan- 
ion. Madie never saw her again, but she carried the re- 
membrance of the sweet, old gentlewoman all her life. 
“Wherever she goes she will be trying to make someone 
happy,” was her flattering comment. 

The next morning the train steamed into the city, that 
had been the wonder of her childhood. Phil was waiting 
for her and hurried her away from the noisy cries. 
“Guess who was my traveling companion? ” 

“ The Grand Duke Alexis.” 

“Oh, Phil, what nonsense; it was Mrs. Gay.” 

“ Then you had a pleasant trip, I know. She was like 
a mother to us boys. Here we are at home.” Aunt 
Prue, Uncle Ben and Carrie made her welcome. 

“ This is almost as nice as home!” she exclaimed. 

“You must rest, my child, and then I want to hear all 
about your folks,” said Aunt Prue. 

“You must be prepared for a trip to the country to- 
morrow.” 

“Oh, Phil, to the old home?” 

“Yes; I thought perhaps you would want to go, so 
Carrie and I have made arrangements to that effect.” 

“ You are just the loveliest people I ever saw,” said 
Madie. 

“Most as nice as those at home?” enquired Phil, but 
she did not reply. 

The visit to her former home was both sad and pleas- 
ant. They roamed over the entire farm, and from the 
knoll where they had played together so many times, they 
gathered a bouquet of wild flowers to deck Amy’s grave. 

“ Let us drive back by the postoffice; of course we will 
have no mail, but it will seem as it used to when we lived 
here.” Phil obligingly granted Madie’s request. 

Eeinforced by her relatives she continued her journey. 
Phil contrived, in his bright way, to make the trip an en- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


163 


joyable one. The other passengers watched the gay 
group and smiled in sympathy. 

Madie was going directly to her uncle’s, but Mrs. Gren- 
all insisted that she should stay with Sada, and the two 
friends were together satisfied. 

This marriage was a great disappointment to Mr. and 
Mrs. Grenall. “Sada, with the advantages she has had, 
ought to make a brilliant match and she is going way out 
West to preside over the home of a poor attorney. It is 
too bad. As much as we have done for her,” her uncle 
said. 

Phil, who with Madie overheard the remark, quoted: 

“ ‘ To John I owed great obligations, 

But John unhappily thought fit 
To publish it to all the nation, 

Sure, John and I are more than quit.’ 

Just as if dear old Ned were not good enough for any- 
one. I wonder if they have ‘ done so much ’ for Sada, in 
order to have her marry well?” 

Ned came the next day, and won Sada’s relatives com- 
pletely in the first hour’s conversation. He talked poli- 
tics and the rise and fall of stocks with Mr. Grenall, and 
was greatly interested in Mrs. Grenall’ s prescriptions. 

The preparations were completed, and the sweet-faced 
bride was waiting with her bridesmaids — Madie, Carrie 
and Miss Cragie — for the summons. 

“ Who are the groomsmen ? Sada doesn’t seem to know, 
or else she evades us,” said Carrie. 

“ Phil is one,” said Sada with a queer smile. 

When they stepped out into the broad hall, they were 
joined by Eay and Kalph. 

“Didn’t you know I was to be ‘best man?’” Ealph 
asked, amused at Madie’s surprised look. 

“ No, but I am very glad that it is you, and not a stran- 
ger.” 

In the spacious drawing-room, where the guests were 
assembled, the solemn words were spoken. “ My wife,” 
Ned whispered, as he drew her to his side. 

With a world of trust in her solemn gray eyes, Sada 


164 : jack’s afire, 

said, “My husband,” so low that he alone heard her 
words. 

Congratulations and good wishes were lavished upon 
them. The sumptuous dinner was served, and the bridal 
pair were ready to depart. 

“Harry, little brother, you must come to me very soon,” 
said his sister-mother. 

“ Oh, Sada, how we shall miss you,” sobbed Mrs. Gren- 
all. 

Madie had sent a loving message to each of her dear 
ones at home, and Phil, seeing how grieved she was at the 
parting, said encouragingly: “ I’ll stay a few days longer, 
and I’m sure Carrie will, too; so don’t look so sober, Ma- 
die.” 

Ealph looked in vain for a chance to speak with her 
alone. His duties were awaiting him, and he could not 
stay longer than that evening. “It hardly seems as 
if I had seen you at all.” 

Madie wondered why she dreaded the parting with 
him more than with her cousin and his wife. “I had so 
much to say to you, Ealph.” 

“ Write it,” he said gently. “ I had much to say to 
you; I shall comeback next summer. Will you be glad 
to see me?” 

“Yes,” she frankly answered. 

When they had gone, Mrs. Grenall wandered sadly 
through the deserted rooms. Madie was going back to 
her uncle’s, and went to say good by to her hostess. 
“ Come and see me often. Could you spare a little time 
to go with me to visit my poor ? ” 

“ I will try to.” 

“ Sada used to go quite often. The journey will tire 
her. I forgot to give her that headache medicine; I had 
it in my room and intended as much as could be to have 
her take it.” 

Madie tried to console her, but the little, homesick girl 
felt so heart-broken herself, that she could not find much 
cheer for anyone. 


OK, THE KURTON TORCH. 


165 


CHAPTEK XXL 

WHAT THEY ALL THOUGHT. 

“Such a beautiful wedding as it was!” said Mrs. Grundy. 
Miss Cragie devoted nearly a column to the toilets and 
gifts, and added: “ There seemed to be so much more 
heart and happiness and trust in it than in many of our 
fashionable weddings, that one could not help but feel the 
good cheer.” 

“There!” she said, as she laid the pen aside, ‘‘Madie 
will have this to do hereafter, but she will not stay here 
long,” remembering Mills’ glances at the fair, young 
bridesmaid. “I wonder if I am not growing sentimental 
with my added years. These people have proved that 
love is not a salable article, after all. They have con- 
vinced even worldly me. What a grave, quiet man my part- 
ner was. I did not care to be bridesmaid, but I believe I 
have the happy faculty of combining business and pleas- 
ure. ” 

Jean Cragie boarded at a fashionable boarding-house. 
The most of her fellow boarders were pleased when she 
entered the parlor. She usually spent a few minutes 
there each evening, after dinner and before going out. 
To-night, after sitting quietly for a time with her busy 
hands still, she took her tablets and went down to the 
others. “I must loan myself to my fellow sojourners; 
though I was beginning to appreciate myself and dislike 
the idea of giving me up.” 

“Out again to-night. Miss Cragie?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, dear! we were going to have charades, and tab- 
leaux and a general good time.” Miss Cragie was amused. 
She had reported so many such “general good times,” 
that they had become monotonous. 

The feminine curiosity was aroused concerning the 


1G6 


jack’s afire, 


wedding, and Miss Cragie hastened to gratify it. “ The 
bride looked beautifully, of course, and very happy. Her 
husband is evidently in love with her. I think they are 
both very happy.” 

“Why!” said one doubtfully, “I understood that he 
was not at all wealthy.” 

“You were correctly informed. But their tastes are 
alike, each knows the other’s idea of living, and being, and 
doing, and I believe there will never be any sighing over 
‘ it might have been.’ ” 

“ Really, Miss Cragie, I never knew you to wax senti- 
mental before ! I hope you’ll send cards,” said a young 
gentleman, who was holding a skein of zephyr for a lady 
to wind. 

This lady made a little artificial noise that she consid- 
ered a musical laugh, and said, “Miss Cragie is determ- 
ined on being an old maid. ” 

“I am certainly not determined on matrimony, and of 
the two I consider the first preferable” 

“Good, Miss Cragie!” exclaimed an old gentleman, 
who had been holding his paper and listening to the con- 
versation. 

“Who were the bride’s maids?” asked a stout lady, 
who delighted in every bit of gossip she could gather 
from those around her. 

“For particulars, see morning papers,” Miss Cragie 
answered from the hall door. 

“Miss Cragie” — but she had already let herself out, 
and hailed a passing car. 

Mr. Joseph Burton and his brother were enjoying a 
pleasant conversation, the evening after the wedding. 
Mrs. Carter sat near, listening to their talk, and adding 
occasionally a characteristically sharp remark. Mrs. Bur- 
ton went back and forth through the cheerfully lighted 
rooms, ‘passing herself around among her relatives,’ as 
Phil said. She was a devotee at fashion’s shrine, yet 
she still had something of tender, kindly feeling in her 
heart, after all these years spent for society. Ray and 


OE, THE RUliTON TORCH. 


Kvr 

Carrie were together, trying to forget the time that liad 
elapsed since they parted. This brother and sister were 
much alike, and were always in perfect understanding 
with one another. Phil, at the piano, would strike a few 
chords now and then. 

“ Play something, Phil,” said Carrie. 

“ It would be very kind of me to comply with your re- 
quest, and you could keep up a conversation all the time. 
I do not care to waste my talent on unappreciative listen- 
ers.” 

Madie had stolen off by herself. It was all so strange 
and new; she had seen Ned and Ralph such a short time, 
and Ned and Sada were going to stop at home. “They 
will all be sitting together now, maybe Christa is playing 
and mamma is rocking Josie to sleep.” 

Aunt Prue looked through the door at the lonely little 
maiden, hesitated a moment; then went in and drew 
her chair close to Madie. “ Would you like me to sit with 
you for a little while, or shall I go away?” 

“Stay, please.” 

“Will you talk to me? A trouble that can be talked 
about is lessened half;” so gently she spoke that her 
young niece opened her heart to her. 

“ I feel so cold around the head and heart, as if an ice- 
berg were somewhere near and the wind were coming 
from that direction. Will this new, cold feeling wear 
off?” 

“Yes, dear, when the place has grown familiar, and the 
strangers have become friends; a bright, balmy summer 
time will follow ‘the winter of your discontent.’ ” 

“You talk as mamma talks,” said Madie, taking her 
aunt’s hand and laying her own cheek lovingly against it. 
Phil called to them and they went down together. Hattie 
and Mr. Lawrence had called. 

“Yes, it was a nice wedding,” Carrie was saying in re- 
sponse to a remark of Mr. Lawrence, as her mother and 
cousin entered the room. “ Sada is a sweet woman and Ned 
is a man to be proud of.” 

“The dresses were beautiful, and the display of presents 


168 


jack’s afire, 


were elegant I think ours showed off fully as well as 
any of them,” said Hattie, and all were assured by these 
remarks that it had gone off satisfactorily to her. 

“ My husband and I came in this evening to consider 
with you a reception which we propose giving. I am 
anxious to introduce Carrie and Madie to our society. 
We think it best to have it while our cousins are all 
here.” Aunt Sarah ably seconded her favorite niece’s 
proposal. 

Madie spoke bravely. “Hattie, I thank you very 
much, but I cannot afford to plunge into a round of gay- 
ety. I have no party dresses, except the white I wore to- 
day, and I cannot get another.” 

Mr. Lawrence said, “ I think we can purchase a suitable 
dress for our cousin.” 

“ I could not accept. Mamma would not like for me to 
come here and be so dependent.” 

“ Do you not see that we are in society, and you will 
have to go with us? It is a duty you owe to us and to 
the public,” said Aunt Anna. 

Madie’s lips quivered in a way that brought a remem- 
brance of her childhood to Aunt Prue and Carrie. “If I 
can appear in my muslin, or my one silk, I shall be glad to 
meet your friends when not at work. But I came here to 
carry out a plan and I want to do it, if it is only a girl’s 
idea. I thought you understood it. If I am going to 
offend you or trouble you with this work, I must go some- 
where else, for I cannot give it up.” 

Uncle Joe was standing by Madie when she finished 
speaking. “My niece is to stay right here and is to do 
just what her conscience tells her is right, and shall not be 
questioned. We will have the reception, but she will 
dress as she chooses ; her taste will not make us ashamed, 
I imagine.” 

Mrs. Carter was not at all pleased with this turn of affairs, 
but she had to give up to her brother, whose strong good 
sense made him a power at home, in society, and among 
his business friends. 

Hattie looked at her husband and made one more ven- 


OE, THE BUKTON TOECH. 


169 


ture. “I do not see any necessity of your working at all, 
this winter,” she said, in her slow, indolent way. “ I have 
never had much to do with the laboring classes.’ 

“There, there! you have had to do with some of the 
hardest worked and poorest paid women in the country — - 
your washerwoman, and cook, and seamstress. If Madie 
came here to work, she is going to do it. I do not want 
her to be deterred from doing her duty by any silly no- 
tions or false pride. Now there is one thing in which I 
don’t at all agree with you women ; if I were to give a re- 
ception, I would invite all those who have helped me in 
business, or in my standing in society. A woman is 
about as greatly indebted to her dressmaker and milliner 
for her social standing as to anyone, but she never thinks 
of inviting them when she opens her house to ‘ her dear 
five hundred.’” 

“Joseph has mounted his hobby and he will ride it 
away from everything.” 

“Sarah has begun and I will stop,” said Mr. Burton 
resignedly. 

Mrs. Burton had a great deal of faith in her husband’s 
judgment, and again, she liked to see her sister-in-law 
vanquished. She never could get ahead of her in an ar- 
gument, being both too slow of wit and too easily indo- 
lent, but she never failed to enjoy the cool victory of her 
husband. 

Phil had been in his element and felt like applauding 
Madie and his uncle, alternately. 

“I could not have taken the stand that Madie did, but 
I admire her for her courage,” Carrie confessed to her 
brothers. 

The preparations went on rapidly ; Bay was anxious to 
get back to his work. “I must stop at home for a few 
days, you know,” he said in explanation of his haste. 

Together, the cousins viewed the city, visited the parks, 
the opera, and went sailing on the blue waters of the lake. 

The party was on Madie’s twentieth birthday. “ What 
shall I wear, Carrie?” 

“Your white,” she promptly answered. “You will 


170 


jack’s afire, 


have plenty of time to wear your silk before the winter 
is over, and a muslin is always pretty and appropriate.” 

“I don’t believe Madie has thought that we put it on 
her birthnight purposely. I shouldn’t have known, but 
Ray and Carrie spoke of it. Even if she knew the people 
here, I don’t believe she’d like to have it given out as an 
anniversary. I think myself it looks a little like beg- 
ging,” said Aunt Prue. 

Madie received a package from home. A gift from 
each, including Ned and Sada. Ralph had not forgotten 
her, as the volume of poems proved. “If I only could be 
there just one little minute!” 

“ I know it must be hard for you,” said Ray, in his 
sober, kindly voice. 

A box was sent over from Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence. 
Some rare flowers and a pearl and satin fan were inside. 
“Lovely! and it just matches your dress,” said Carrie. 
“Here is something I want you to wear for my sake.” 
The delicate point-lace tie was laid beside the fan. 

Madie began to thank her, when Ray and Phil brought 
in an escritoir. “For our literary cousin,” they said, 
trying to banish her sadness. Aunt Prue and Uncle 
Ben came with a box of gloves and a copy of Shakespeare. 

“You will need a time-piece when you go out reporting, 
so my wife and I have decided,” said Uncle Joe, as he 
hung the chain, to which a beautiful watch was attached, 
around her neck. Aunt Sarah was “ determined that she 
should not make Hattie ashamed.” The dress of ruby 
velvet and satin was a marvel of skill. 

“You have beaten me, after all. Everything is beauti- 
ful, and I am thankful to all of you. I don’t you 

see, I can’t say any more or I shall cry?” She turned from 
them all and ran to her room. It had all been such a 
surprise to her; and, besides, her pride was hurt a little 
by Aunt Sarah’s gift. Then she thought of the loving 
wishes she had received that day, and remembered for 
what she was working. “ I will not be obliged to spend 
very much for myself, and will be that much nearer the 
fulfillment of my wishes. I loill be pleased.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


171 


Aunt Sarah decided with the other ladies of the family 
that the white dress would be more appropriate for Madie 
that night. They were a little curious to see how their 
western relative would appear at a grand reception. Miss 
Cragie and Phil were not doubtful in the least, and Car- 
rie said, after the first guests were greeted, as they stood 
beside Mrs. Lawrence, “she will do.” 

The slender figure floated through the dance as grace- 
fully as any of the city belles. “ She doesn’t make any 
more work over dancing than she would if she were a 
leaf in a strong wind,” said Uncle Joe. 

“What a bright, thoughtful face your cousin has,” a 
gentleman observed to Mrs. Lawrence, as they were prom- 
enading through the crowded rooms. She smiled as if the 
compliment reflected credit upon herself. She was in her 
element to-night. 

“ If I only could keep her from going to work. It will 
seem as if I tried to impose upon my friends, to introduce 
her with such eclat, and then to let her go to work and 
support herself.” This thought was the one drawback to 
her evening’s enjoyment. 

“ Come and see me to-morrow. I shall be at liberty all 
the afternoon and shall be glad to see you and your 
cousin.” 

“ I will, Jean, for I feel as if I needed you,” said 
Madie. The two were standing together for a moment. 

Phil noticed that his brother looked earnestly at the tall, 
self-possessed young lady who moved gracefully through 
the crowd. “ One of the world’s workers,” he said to him- 
self. Seeing her and Madie together, he made his way 
to them and found a golden opportunity to converse 
with the “author of those racy articles.” 

Phil claimed his cousin for the next dance and left the 
two together. “ It is my business to study symptoms, and 
for my elder brother, I would prescribe an entire change 
of scene.” 

“ Please, not to say a word, Phil.” 

“ I most assuredly will not. It is a good deal like fever, 
easily broken at the outset. I don’t say, as many of your 


172 


jack’s afire, 


own sex would, that ‘ I can’t see that there is anything in 
her for him to admire.’ I rather like her myself, and did 
the first time I ever saw her.” He spoke the words so 
lightly that Madie thought he was in jest, but Carrie, who 
chanced to hear the last remark, wondered if her fun-lov- 
ing brother were not in earnest. 

“I would rather it would be he than Kay, for he needs 
such a woman as she is,” bnt she was too wise to interfere. 

“ Could I come with my cousin to see you to-morrow? ” 
Kay asked, striving hard to hide the eagerness in his 
voice. 

“ Certainly. I shall be pleased to see any of Miss Bur- 
ton’s relatives,” and then was provoked at herself, because 
of the triteness of the remark. 

When Miss Cragie bade Madie good night, she invited 
her to bring her three cousins with her the next day. Mrs. 
Lawrence heard the invitation and shrugged her shoul- 
ders. She had copied this expression of contempt from 
stories she had read of the gay French people. “ If Miss 
Cragie is accustomed to good society she is not an equal,” 
the look and shrug said plainly. Madie noticed the face 
and shoulders and was troubled. 

Miss Cragie gave a real American twitch to her scapu- 
lae and steeled her heart against this new friendship that 
was creeping in. “I am only borrowed for the occasion, 
you see,” she explained to Madie, who had left the gay 
scene to accompany her friend to the cloak-room. 

“ People like to read of the grand entertainments they 
give in the next morning’s paper, so I am sent around like 
any other parcel. I go to many places, and meet many 
people who do not see me afterward. It seems strange, 
with my proportions, that I am not visible to the naked 
eye on the street, but it is a fact.” 

“ I don’t see how they can be so rude. I could not bor- 
row or ask favors of one whom I would not associate with.” 

“They deem it a favor to allow me admission to their 
homes at any time. I am a working woman, you know.” 

“Mamma says, ‘every girl should be able to be self- 
supporting.’ ” 


OB, THE BUKTON TORCH. 


173 


“ Your mother is a sensible woman, but she does not 
understand tha extreme delicacy 'of polite society, in re- 
gard to the ‘ labor question.’ ” 

After she had bidden her friend good night, Madie 
went thoughtfully back to the crowded rooms. “ I won- 
der if they will ignore me after I have gone to work ? I 
shall be Uncle Joe’s niece and Hattie’s cousin just as I am 
now. Well, I will know who my real friends are, at any 
rate. When the sifting process is through, I don’t be- 
lieve my sieve will be quite empty.” 

“ It has been a grand success, and the season has opened 
delightfully,” the guests said to Mrs. Lawrence. 

The family stood together for a few minutes in the de- 
serted parlor. Carrie, in her quiet, self-contained way, 
had expressed herself as pleased with all. 

“And how did you enjoy yourself,” Uncle Joe asked 
abruptly. 

“Oh, very, very much indeed, and I thank you all over 
and over again. I wish they all could have, been here.” 
‘ They,’ at this time comprised Madie’ s world. “ I am 
afraid so much pleasuring is spoiling me.” 

“You appeared a great deal better than I expected you 
would, but you are too impulsive ; you should move through 
a room more slowly than you do,” said Aunt Sarah, with 
the charming frankness only known to near and dear rela- 
tives. 

“ I received ever so many complimentary remarks for 
both my cousins,” said Mrs. Lawrence graciously. 

“ Is there no one to be found in this great city to say a 
kind word for Eay and I?” enquired Phil. 

“ I know of several good things that were said, but I 
will not repeat them,” said his Aunt Anna. 

“Our cousins all did us credit,” Mrs. Lawrence de- 
cided 

So Madie, as she herself expressed it in a letter to her 
mother that night: “Had passed examination and re- 
ceived a certificate to go into society for the season, but I 
shall not use my passport very often. My presents were 
all lovely, and every time I look at them I shall see the 


174 


jack’s afike, 


dear ones who gave them. I would exchange all this 
splendor for one of your sweet story hours.” 

^ “Madie!” 

“ What is it, Carrie? ” 

“It is nearly morning, and you must rest.” 

“I’m coming.” And the noise and roar of the city 
lulled her to sleep. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


175 


CHAPTEE XXII. 

PLAYING KEEP HOUSE. 

“ If a lady calls forme to-day, please show her to my 
room, I shall be in all the afternoon.” Miss Cragie gave 
this brief order to the bell-boy when she entered the par- 
lor after luncheon. It was an unusual thing for this inde- 
pendent young woman to receive a real visitor, and, al- 
though her fellow-boarders were generally well-bred, they 
exhibited their surprise in quick glances at one another, 
while several pairs of curious eyes followed the re- 
treating figure as she wended her way to her own apart- 
ments. 

“ She must be expecting someone,” said a large indolent 
woman, who roomed opposite Miss Cragie, and was at the 
present moment rejoicing in that fact. 

“I sincerely hope she is,” said her old gentleman 
friend, lowering his paper for a moment. “ Hers is such 
a busy life, that she will enjoy a friendly, restful visit, 
and I do not think her visitor will count the time spent 
with her as wasted.” 

“Surely not,” said Mrs. Howe, who never disputed, 
especially with gentlemen. 

But when four young people presented themselves, 
and inquired for Miss Cragie, the excitement in that parlor 
was intense. Mrs. Howe found it necessary to go to her 
room immediately. 

“She is becoming quite gay!” 

“Kather a fine looking lot.” 

“ The taller gentleman resembles a minister;” were the 
various comments made upon the new arrivals. If Miss 
Cragie had entered the room at that moment, the entire 
company would have gathered around her, interested in 
her bright conversation, and portly Mrs. Howe would 


176 


jack’s afire, 


have been among the foremost. Deceitfulness was her 
chief characteristic. When she was practicing her decep- 
tive and secretive powers she seemed the most real and 
frank. 

Miss Cragie was frequently annoyed by her covert 
sneers and innuendoes. In speaking of her to the elderly 
man, who, of all the boarders, was the most kind to this 
orphan girl, Jean once said: “I hate to see so much 
waste material. There is Mrs. Howe, who is an absolute 
failure as a woman, but as a wasp she would meet with 
unlimited success.” Mr. Warren was too deeply inter- 
ested to even smile at the sharp comment. 

“I have sometimes thought that deceitfulness ought to 
be treated as a crime,” he said. 

“I heartily agree with you; why not put it slander in 
the third degree?” 

“I think that that would be quite correct. I hope you 
will not mind these speeches. Women ought to have 
more to think about, then they would not be so narrow, 
Miss Jean.” 

But we have left Miss Cragie to meet her visitors alone, 
when we should have been with her. “How pretty your 
rooms are,” said Carrie, walking to the window. She had 
not learned that it was considered the height of impro- 
priety to look from or sit by a window in that great 
city. 

“I chose upper rooms because I thought it would be 
nice to feel above people sometimes. The atmosphere 
seems better, too. I wanted front rooms, because I am 
not at all curious about ‘ my neighbor over the alley way ’ 
and I fail to see anything interesting in people’s back 
yards.” 

“ I don’t know as to that,” said Phil, laughing. “ One 
would have a better chance to study human nature. The 
seem is always at the front door, but the reality often takes 
the rear entrance and exit.” 

“ Your rooms please me, because they are so homelike,” 
said Madie. 

Miss Cragie was delighted with the appreciation. “ I 


OB, THE BURTON TORCH. 


177 


did not know but these varied adornments might not be 
harmonious to a stranger’s eye. I see the dear hands that 
fashioned them, and if the donors were here, there would 
be no incongruity. Soldiers are the only people that I 
care to see on dress parade, and it is absurd to fix a room 
for that purpose.” 

At this time the decorative craze had not swept through 
every household, and there were neither fireshovels, nor 
potato mashers, nor spades, nor rolling-pins upon the 
wall. It was not reasonable to suppose that ladies knew 
that such things were. “ If Mohammed would not come 
to the mountain, the mountain will have to go to Moham- 
med.” So to-day these articles adorn parlor, and draw- 
ing-room, and boudoir. 

Miss Cragie exhibited a portfolio of choice drawings, 
and etchings, and a rare cabinet of curiosities, brought 
from the Old World, when she, a young girl, visited those 
ancient countries with her father. Her library had been 
carefully selected. 

“One can get such a good idea of an individual from 
looking over his or her collection of books,” said Ray. 

“I presume I have been a little extravagant, but I do 
enjoy books and pictures so much, and with the want, 
comes the feeling that I can afford it. Somehow I never 
feel poor until my money is all gone. It is very unfortu- 
nate to think one’s self rich, only when one is shopping. I 
realize my poverty often, at home.” 

They talked of art and science and the “political out- 
look.” On each subject there was a general interchange of 
ideas. 

“What is your opinion on the Chinese question ? ” Phil 
asked. “I think we have discussed everything else.” 

“Let us postpone that problematic question until we 
have dined. I beg of you all to stay with me. Let me 
feel that I have some friends who are willing to give me 
more than a fashionable call.” And in the spirit that it 
was given, the invitation was accepted. 

Jean Cragie was very near to perfect happiness that 
afternoon. Her mother died when she was q^uite young ; 

12 


178 


jack’s afire. 


from that time she was the petted idol of her father, who 
lavished every gift upon her that wealth could bestow, un- 
til her eighteenth birthday, when the wealth disappeared, 
and her loved parent died shortly after, leaving her to 
earn her own livelihood. 

“I shall have our dinner sent to my room,” she decided, 
as she went down to consult with the landlady. No mat- 
ter what happened, or what was said, Miss Cragie never 
failed to find a friend in the kind-hearted lady of the 
house. When the plan was proposed to her this evening, 
she readily agreed to it. 

“Why, I shall be real glad to send everything right 
up. It can be done just as well as not;” and she made 
the orphan feel as if this were the one thing, above all 
others, that she was anxious to do. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Thomas! I shall always remember 
your many kindnesses.” 

She went back to her friends with a radiant face. “We 
are going to ‘play keep house,’ as I used to when I was 
small. Madie and I have been friends so long, and we 
will all be friends together.” Carrie, who enjoyed any- 
thing domestic, proffered her aid, and merrily abetted by 
all ; the dainty room was changed to a dining hall. 

“Let me fill up the stove,” said Phil, seizing the scut- 
tle. “I have caught the spirit of helpfulness, and this is 
all I can find to do. I see you have not adopted either 
the modern grate or register.” 

“No, I cannot leave a grate so well as a stove, and I 
like to see what I am getting, even in the matter of fire. 
I never can feel comfortable to enter a house and sit down 
by a window to warm.” 

“ Some people I meet and think they are very interest- 
ing, yet they are fearfully disappointing when a third 
person is brought in, but you are nice always,” said Madie 
impulsively. 

Miss Cragie fully appreciated the praise. “This is a 
beautiful break in the monotony of my boarding life,” 
smiling at her guests from the head of the table. 

• • Some measure cake, conversation and calls by rule. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


179 


What I like about this is the general unexpectedness,” 
said Phil with boyish enthusiasm. Ray, who sat at the 
foot of the table, thought only of the charming woman 
who presided so gracefully. 

“You go to work the first of October do you?” Jean 
asked of Madie, who replied in the affirmative. “ Let me 
see, to-day is the twenty-fifth, and 

Thirty days hath September, 

April, June and November.’ 

Your labor begins Tuesday. What a help that couplet 
has been to me ! I wish I knew the name of the author, that 
I might thank him in thought, at least. I hope you will 
enjoy your work, Madie,” and the older girl looked at 
the. younger one with loving eyes. 

“ She will be a success, I know,” said Carrie confi- 
dently. 

“Don’t, Carrie, you make me afraid. You all expect 
more of me than I can do.” Madie looked really dis- 
tressed. 

“Let me tell you, Madie: Know what you want to say 
before you write it down ; don’t give an idea to the world 
poorly clad ; be sure that it is so well dressed that you 
need not be ashamed to have it seen in any society.” 
Madie smiled at Phil’s characteristic advice. 

“ Your ‘ playing keep house ’ has been enjoyed by all, I 
am sure,” said Carrie as they arose to go. 

Miss Cragie accompanied them to the door. “This is 
good by to three of you, I presume,” she said, almost 
sadly. 

Carrie and Phil had taken leave of this new friend, and 
gone down the steps ; Ray lingered for a moment. 

“Will you let me write to you? I wish that I might 
continue this pleasant acquaintance.” 

Miss Cragie again found herself almost deprived of the 
power of speech. “Yes, if you wish.” 

“Thank you,” and he was gone. 

“I wonder if happiness makes people dumb! If any- 
one opposes me, or I am sad and restless, I can say and 


180 


jack’s afire, 


write a great deal, but here I am, happy and foolish! I 
can’t think of anything to say.” She went to her room, 
and prepared for a crush wedding, where everything 
was conducted in the most approved style; the clock 
ticked off the seconds in an aristocratic manner ; and the 
guests acted and talked as if they were a book of etiquette, 
and the hostess were turning the leaves. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


181 


CHAPTEE XXITI. 

A WORKER AND HIS WORK. 

Madie bade her uncle, aunt and cousins good by. “My 
pleasuring is over, and now I begin my work,” she said 
with a sigh which was a mixture of relief and dread. 

Miss Cragie studied the manager intently, while he was 
conversing with Madie, and again when she carried in 
her first copy. “ She has won there,” was her gratified 
comment, and the young girl was, from that time, con- 
sidered as “one of the force.” 

“ You must go with me to our mission school to-mor- 
row,” said Miss Cragie as they were leaving the office 
Saturday evening. “ I enjoy children more than grown 
people, and I think you will like it also. I attend service 
morning and evening, in order that text and sermon may 
be passed out to the world. So, what I might otherwise 
enjoy, has to be taken as a matter of business. I like to 
spend an hour or two with the children in the afternoon.” 

Madie readily agreed to accompany her friend the next 
day to one of the mission schools, where newsboys and 
poor children had been gathered from the streets of that 
crowded city. 

“ It doesn’t seem to me that you give us very much of 
your time, ” said Mrs. Carter, as Madie came into the 
parlors the next afternoon, and announced her intention 
of visiting the mission school. 

“Why, Aunt Sarah^ I did not think you would care! I 
promised Miss Cragie, and I do not like to disappoint her ; 
besides, I have not seen any children to talk with them 
since I left home.” 

“Oh, well, if you do not wish to spend even your Sab- 
baths with us, go right along.” 

“Go with me Aunt Sarah! Please do.” 

“No, indeed, I do not care to make a great deal of 


182 


jack’s afire, 


those beggar children. They will turn around and steal 
from you the first time they get a chance.” 

“Aunt Sarah, don’t think everyone is mean and bad. 
Don’t you dare to think that. We misjudge and condemn 
people often, when, if we were in their places, we would 
do even worse than they do, I honestly believe. I am 
not going to doubt the world because I do not doubt my- 
self.” 


“ Well, we will not argue. I do not like to see a young 
girl so free with her opinions.” 

Madie’s temper was fast getting beyond her control, and 
she hurriedly left the house. “ Mamma will feel badly 
when told of this. I guess I will not write it to her, but 
will wait until I get home. I will write it down so that 
I will not forget it;” she slackened her pace. “ Shall I 
do that? It will be very much like cherishing spite. I’ll 
simply write to mamma that I was angry to-day, when I 
ought not to have been, and will try and do better here- 
after ; then I will not be speaking unkindly of Aunt Sarah, 
and in a little while it will all be forgotten.” 

When she called for Miss Cragie, the cloud of anger 
had rolled away, and she was bright and cheerful. 

The chapel was filled when they entered. The super- 
intendent recognized Miss Cragie and beckoned them to 
the front. The rich notes of the organ vibrated through 
the room, and the sweet childish voices sang the familiar 
hymn. Then a hushed silence, a few earnest words to 
God, and many voices repeated the Lord’s Prayer. An- 
other sweet old hymn, and the texts were called for. One 
little girl in the infant class, when asked if she had a 
verse, nodded her head so vigorously, that it almost threat- 
ened dislocation, and arose with alacrity. She turned 
toward her young teacher with a look of love, and said: 


“The rose is red, 

The violet’s blue, 

The pink is sweet, 

And so are you.’’ 

She finished with another abrupt nod. 

A few in the audience smiled, a few more giggled, but 
many of them were on the borderland between smiles and 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 1RP) 

tears. The young girl l^lushed at this direct address to 
herself. “That was very nice of you, dear,” she whis- 
pered to the little child, as she sat down. This baby girl 
had been anxious to learn something, and. this verse had 
struck her as peculiarly applicable to her sweet-faced 
teacher. She had spent a great deal of time upon it, being 
drilled by her brother, only a year and a half older than 
herself, who now sat in the adjoining class and tried to 
look as if he were not pleased with his sister’s verse. I 
think He, who said: “Suffer little children to come unto 
me,” accepted these words from the baby tongue as 
gratefully as if she had repeated a text whose meaning 
was beyond her comprehension. It was all done for 
love! 

Two little negro children interested Madie greatly. 
“It is nice to see those happy black faces, and to feel, 
with a loyal glow at the heart, that we are a free people. 
I must write to Ralph and Ned to-night that I have seen 
some of the fruits of their years of labor.” 

Miss Cragie touched her gently. “I have spoken to 
you twice. You must have been a long way from here. 
Will you go into the Bible class to-day?” 

“Yes, I will go there every day, as I am not competent 
to teach.” 

They were accustomed to comers and goers, and did not 
particularly notice the two girls who entered the large 
class, taught by the superintendent. Madie was intent 
upon the lesson and was trying to think it out for herself. 
The calm, measured tone of the teacher aroused her. “If 
Esther had not done this work and gone to the king, she 
alone would have been the sufferer. Some other one would 
have risen in her stead to do the work. God’s work does 
not suffer.” 

Miss Cragie looked puzzled. “If there had been no 
Luther there would have been another reformer,” she 
said half questioningly. “I cannot quite understand it.” 

The teacher looked at her pityingly. It all seemed so 
simple to him, and she was only a seeker after the 
truth. 


184 


jack’s afire, 


“It seems to me God’s work is not only delayed, but 
actually suffers for want of human hands to do His bid- 
ding,” she said slowly. 

“A great work, such as Esther had to do, or one 
that needed a man filled with divine inspiration as 
Luther, will in God’s own time be done. In such a work a 
whole nation is either to be helped or hindered. God in 
his infinite wisdom and love will not allow it to fail. In 
the case of Luther, there was so much that was God-like 
in his character, we feel that it was not the man alone 
who did the work, but the Father must have walked very 
closely with him.” The class listened attentively while 
the teacher was speaking. 

“Little things are often mighty. I think God’s work, 
or our work — it is so hard to draw the line between — does 
suffer because of our failure in doing as we ought. There 
are many litte acts of kindness, which are in ‘our king- 
dom,’ that we fail in performing, and kind words that we 
fail to speak, and people whose name is legion suffer 
thereby.” Madie had been drawn away from herself by 
the discussion, and these words were spoken eagerly. She 
raised her eyes to the superintendent. 

“I think you are partially right,” he said. 

“Many things rest with us to be, and do, and say, and 
this lesson, as well as many others, must be thought for our- 
selves by ourselves,” Mr. Warren said earnestly, and the 
lesson was ended. 

When the school was again together, the leader spoke 
simply and kindly to all. 

“ Where have I seen him before? I know I have met 
him somewhere,” thought Madie. 

The children passed out in the bright autumn sunlight, 
and the object of her comments came and spoke to Miss 
Cragie. 

“ This is my friend. Miss Burton,” said Jean. 

“I am glad to meet both of you, and hope to see you 
here often,” he said as he walked with them to the car. 

“It is difficult to find those who are willing to take 
hold of the work as you do. Very few are willing to en- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


185 


ter as pupils. Most of them wish to teach or stay away 
altogether.” 

“Yes, I have noticed that the well dressed were among 
the teachers, and I believe those children feel that differ- 
ence, and perhaps some are deterred from entering as 
scholars for that very reason, as they do not wish to con- 
fess their poverty and ignorance before us,” said Miss* 
Cragie. 

“I am willing to be taught with them for a long time.” 
The reverend gentleman again thanked them for their 
presence at his school. “ Come again, if you will,” and 
he smiled slightly. 

“Where have I seen him and when?” Madie again in- 
terrogated her memory, but received no answer. 

“ How did you like it?” 

“Very much; only I could never feel at ease with that 
man. He spoke kindly, too,” Madie replied. 

“He is a very excellent man. The good he has done 
among the poor of this city cannot be calculated. An 
untiring worker, faithful and honest; I would trust him 
always, and yet, as you say, I never can feel easy in his 
company. Children and grown people respect him alike ; 
but the children never run to meet him, as they run to 
some of those who work with them. He never stands on 
the floor of the chapel when he talks to them; he invari- 
ably mounts the platform, and there is that difference be- 
tween them always. Then he reaches down to help them 
up, and does not climb with them, shoulder to shoulder. 
I respect him more than any man I know. You need not 
expect him to greet you cordially the next time you meet. 
You will not get any further if you should know him for 
years. Stay to dinner with me, will you please?” 

“ No, thank you, I must go back to my uncle’s,” and 
Madie hurried on to make her peace with Aunt Sarah. 

That lady was rather unapproachable for a time, but 
Anally forgave her, and peace was declared. “ I am glad 
of it,” said Uncle Joe; “I hate to see a family in the 
midst of a civil war.” 

Madie entertained them with a description of the mis- 


186 


jack’s afire, 


sion school, while Mrs. Carter appeared to be greatly in- 
terested in a book, lest she should seem entertained by the 
conversation. 

“ His eyes and forehead are so familiar; he resembles 
someone I have seen, and it has just tired me trying to 
think who he is,” Madie said as she was leaving the room. 

“Miss Burton, may I have the extreme pleasure of es- 
corting you to church to-night? ” 

“Certainly,” said Madie, sweeping him a low cour- 
tesy. 

“I am glad Joseph has someone to play with; one 
child in a house is always lonely,” said his sister. 

“ Then we are evenly divided — two children and two 
old people.” Aunt Anna smiled at both as she spoke; she 
was pleased to note the boyishness of her husband. 

“If you are willing, Madie, we will attend the Presby- 
terian church ; I like the pastor, and enjoy his sermons so 
much that I often stay away from my own church to listen 
to him.” 

“ I want you to do as you like. Uncle Joe ; if you admire 
him I am sure that I will.” 

“You will be moved by his eloquence, and will feel his 
magnetic power. Now he is like a soft zephyr sweeping 
through the forest of thought, blowing the leaves of fancy 
hither and thither, refreshing all who listen to him. Again 
he sweeps through with a storm of eloquence ; we brace 
ourselves against the tempest, and are anxious to be one 
of the earnest workers right away.” 

The church was crowded, but the pastor did not preach 
that night. It was- an evening devoted to home missions. 
Madie gave an involuntary start when she saw in the pul- 
pit the tall man with the keen eye and firm mouth, whose 
second she was vainly trying to recall. He glanced over 
the wealthy congregation, and, in his deep voice, repeated 
the words of the text — 

“The poor ye have always with you.” 

It was a powerful sermon. Madie recalled her uncle’s 
description of the regular pastor, and thought “tliis man 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


187 


is the woodman, who goes through that ‘forest of thought’ 
with a ponderous ax, wielding powerful strokes and leaving 
a blazed track behind him. We are not lifted by his 
sentences, but he drives fact after fact home to us. His 
hearers are waiting for truth to follow truth, and seem to 
say ‘it is coming,’ and it does come. He is weighty, but 
not heavy; slow, but not tedious.” She could scarcely re- 
press a smile when she thought how she was analyzing 
him. 

“ I am coming to reporting easily.” 

When the congregation was dismissed and Madie was 
once more alone with her uncle, she enquired, “ Were you 
disappointed? ” 

“ No, Madie, not after the first; I was not quite pre- 
pared, but I got ready for him soon after he began. He 
preaches to sinners, and I am accustomed to being talked to 
as it I were rather good; Sarah is the only person who is 
perfectly frank with me in regard to my shortcomings.” 

“ Mrs. Grenall was there and was greatly interested. I 
know she will open her purse and pour out its contents for 
that mission work ; it doesn’t matter what denomination it 
is to benefit. She will go into it as generously for either 
Jew or -Gentile, and Grenall will see that it gets into the 
paper.” 

“ Well, it is better to fill up our column with such items 
than with scum and scandal.” 

Madie fell to thinking of her plans for the future, and 
was silent for the remainder of the walk. 

“ Talk when you please, and be quiet when you have a 
mind to,” was Uncle Joe’s theory concerning communion- 
ship of friends. 

One evening during the following week, Madie had been 
delayed much later than usual, and the lamps had long 
been lighted ere she started homeward. She had ex- 
pected to get through before dark and had left no word 
at her uncle’s for anyone to come for her. She went to 
the corner and hastily entered a car 

“ You have made a mistake,” said the conductor as he 


188 


jack’s afire, 

passed through. He stopped the car and directed her to 
the right one. “ Go north one block and east two, and 
you will find your car.” 

She had never been bewildered before. “I cannot tell 
the points of the compass at all.” Not a policeman was in 
sight. 

“ Good evening, dear.” The leering face was very 
close to her own. 

She turned from him and went rapidly in an opposite 
direction. Turning a corner suddenly, she ran against a 
portly policeman, sauntering leisurely along. 

“ Oh, sir; a drunken man spoke to me.” 

“ Vareabouts did he do dot ? ” 

“Just around the corner. There he is now.” 

The officer went toward the advancing figure. “ Vot 
do you means by such conduct anyhow?” 

“I do not understand,” the newcomer said haughtily. 

“ Please, sir, he is not the one I spoke to you about. Mr. 
McLean, I am so glad to see you.” Madie told him rather 
incoherently of her adventure. The minister had already 
recognized her as the lady who had visited his school 
with Miss Cragie. 

The policeman recognized him when Madie spoke his 
name, and was profuse in his apologies. “I will take 
charge of the lady. Do not apologize ; the mistake was 
quite natural under the circumstances.” The two walked 
away, leaving the policeman chuckling to himself. 

“Yell, I nefer did see such a blame fools as I vas. I 
most came near arresting dot breacher. I vas shamed 
mit myself, but I don’t guess but vat I vas dickled, too. 
Dot surbrize on his face vas awful.” The jolly Teuton 
leaned against a lamp-post and laughed heartily. 

When they reached the car, Madie turned reluctantly 
to bid her escort good night. 

“I shall not leave you until you reach your home.” 

“ Thank you, I shall be very glad for your company. I 
never was cowardly before, but I am really afraid to-night. 
My uncle will be glad to see you, I am sure.” 

This frank friendliness was something new to the man. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


189 


who spent his days among the poor of the city, always 
helpful and kindly, but never cordial or loving. Grati- 
tude overcame diffidence, and Madie forgot that she had 
been afraid of him. 

Mr. Burton met them at the door. “We have been 
worrying about you, and I was just starting in search of 
you. I am glad that you have reached home in safety.” 

“I have had an adventure, but fortunately met Mr. 
McLean, and he brought me home.” 

“We feel greatly indebted to you for the kindness. 
Come in and dine with us, Mr. McLean; we shall feel 
proud to entertain you.” There was so much friendliness 
in Mr. Burton’s voice and hand-clasp, that the minister 
felt the invitation was a fact and not a form, and followed 
Madie into the house. 

Mrs. Carter was busily knitting when they entered, al- 
though she had been fretting over her niece’s absence 
more than either of the others. “Well, you’ve come at 
last, after having worried us all. This is what comes of 
being independent.” 

Madie explained the cause of her delay. Mrs. Carter 
was not at all appeased. 

“Oh, Sarah, never mind! I am so pleased to see her 
with us again that I could not scold if I wanted to. Her 
explanation is satisfactory. I have known people to lose 
their children, and to be nearly distracted at not finding 
them, but when they were found, they would punish them 
severely ; that such a proceeding made the children thank- 
ful for a renewal of acquaintance, I have no doubt.” 

Mr. McLean smiled at Mr. Burton’s words, and coming 
forward was presented to Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Burton. 
Now, of all people whom Mrs. Carter desired to stand well 
before, clergymen were foremost. She of course preferred 
those of her own church, but she liberally tolerated all. 
She began to speak of church work immediately, giving 
him to understand that she was a Christian. While lui 
thought of a call he had made in a tenement house a few 
days before. The woman was washing, and did not stop 
her work as she spoke to him. 


100 


jack’s afire, 


“ I hain’t time to talk much now, and I don’t want 
none of your tracts. I’d like to send the children to 
school first-rate, if they had got anything fit to wear. 
You might take your papers down to the woman on the 
first floor. She is a Christian, or leastwise she told me 
she was one ’tother day. I’ve been acquainted with her 
for a good while, but I didn’t know it afore.” 

The dinner was a pleasant meal. Mr. McLean talked 
as he seldom talked with strangers. 

“ I believe he has read and seen more than any person 
I have ever heard talk, and he doesn’t seem to be con- 
scious of it,” Madie thought, as she listened eagerly to 
the conversation. 

“Do not go yet, please,” urged Mrs. Burton, when they 
returned to the parlor. 

“I would gladly stay longer, but I have work that will 
keep me busy until midnight.” 

“And I have hindered you,” said Madie, really troubled. 

“A vacation is pleasant, occasionally. Do you sing? 
I should like to hear you. I seldom hear any but the 
music in our chapel.” 

Madie sang a favorite ballad. “Perhaps you sing your- 
self,” suggested Mrs. Burton. 

“ I am sure you do. You led the children last Sab- 
bath,” said Madie. 

He seated himself at the piano and sang an aria from 
Elijah. 

“Your voice must be of great service to you in your 
work,” said Mr. Burton. 

“ It is,” he answered simply. “I spent a year in Italy, 
and improved my time by studying music.” 

“Dear me, you are not a Koman Catholic, I hope!” 
Mrs. Carter exclaimed in a horrified tone. 

“ I have never professed that faith,” he returned, and 
this time the smile rested on his face instead of floating 
over it. 

“We are to have a dinner for our people. Thanksgiving 
Day. Will you come?” He addressed all, but looked 
longest at Madie. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


191 


“I will gladly; it will be my first holiday away from 
home, and I shall want to be busy,” she said softly. 

“ I would go, only children, especially those who are 
not well bred, tire me. I thought I would do a little dis- 
trict visiting, but I couldn’t talk to the mothers. As soon 
as they stopped work, the children began clamoring for 
‘ a piece.’ The boys were always hungry. I do hate to 
see a lot of vulgar people feed. It is bad enough to see 
our best society in a supper room. Wherever I went I 
heard, ‘ Ma, I want a piece.’ And to see them all ‘ wanting 
pieces’ next Thursday would make me sick for a week.” 

“We will try to send a part of the family, at any rate,” 
Mrs. Burton laughingly promised and the missionary took 
his leave. 

Douglas McLean was a thoroughly good man. Even 
when a child he had been spoken of as “ such a good boy,” 
and it had been almost a damage to him. If he had been 
blest with a little more of the human nature, he would 
have known better what his fellowmen needed. Being 
above most of the temptations that clog the upward path 
of many, he could not understand nor be pitiful of 
their downfall. Starting upward from his boyhood, he 
found a smooth pathway. He had to wash no dark sin 
from his garments, and could not realize that others would 
have to walk in the sunlight of God’s presence, ere they 
could be “ Washed whiter than snow.” 

Reared among the Scottish covenanters, he was a vig- 
orous, healthful Christian, puritanically just, and preached 
the God of the Old Testament, full of vengeance and wratli. 
He was a “ God-fearing^^ man, and there stopped. He 
had not come down through the years to preach the for- 
giveness of Christ, and to be a God-loving man, and this 
was what so many of his sinning fellows needed. Yet he 
was considered a successful worker. A thoroughly good 
man will accomplish much in his Master’s service, but if 
he could have touched the hearts of his people, he would 
have accomplished more. It was not frightful for him to 
think of an avenging God, but to some black with sin, a 
God of love would have been a grander Being. 


192 


jack’s afike, 


I’d rather be brought up in the love of anyone than 
the fear, although both are sometimes necessary, and then 
comes in the other Divine attribute — the Holy Ghost. 

Many clergymen fail in their work because they have 
not their spiritual lens adjusted to the right focus to see 
the needs of their people. One can combine science and 
religion, reason and religion, and art and religion, but, 
until he has brought in love and religion he has not 
learned the first letters of the grand alphabet which spells 
“Our Father.” 

On Thanksgiving morning Mr. Burton, Miss Cragie, 
and Madie made their way through the long, crowded hall 
with their baskets of provision. Mr. McLean was here, 
there, and everywhere among his people. He saw the new 
arrivals and went to meet them. “I will find you some 
seats in a moment.” 

“We came to help, and do not care for seats,” said 
Miss Cragie. 

“Very well, 1 think I can find something for you to do; 
perhaps you will discover it before I do,” he said, pleased 
with the proffered aid. 

“ We can arrange and decorate the tables. I know it 
will seem nicer to them than just the plain provision.” As 
she spoke, Madie took some autumn leaves and dainty 
bouquets from her basket. 

“ I am very grateful, indeed;” and the busy man hurried 
away. 

Mrs. Grenall was in her element and came up to the 
girls, who were arranging the flowers. “ That is very 
nice. I shall send for a few bouquets for each table, and 
when we are through with them we can send them to the 
sick people in home and hospital.” 

AVhenthe long tables were ready, and the crowd of chil- 
dren were gathered around them, Mr. McLean said to Ma- 
die: “ I wish you would sing for them when they have 
finished their dinner.” 

“ I will with pleasure.” 

He raised his hand for them to bow their heads. “ Say 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


193 


the Lord’s Prayer,” whispered Madie. For the first time 
in his life he changed a preconceived plan, and several 
hundred voices repeated that which alone should make 
one “ repent and believe.” 

“How happy they are; it makes me happy just to look 
at them. Mr. McLean, maybe it would have been better if 
I had not spoken, but I thought, with many of them there 
might be days when ‘ Give us this day our daily bread ' 
would be a mockery, and I wanted them to feel that the 
prayer is answered to-day.” 

“ You did right. They all returned thanks.” His sen- 
tences were usually brief. 

Two young bootblacks near them were discussing the- 
ology. “I go to Sunday-school every week,” said one. 

“So do I,” said the other, as intelligibly as he could 
with his mouth filled with doughnuts. “ I believe in 
praying, too. Yest’day I didn’t know nothing about thi*; 
here dinner. I heard ’em talking about Thanksgiving, 
though, and when I got home I was awful hungry. Didn’t 
get any shines at all, you see, so I just dropped right down 
onto my knees, and I said: ‘ Oh, Lord, send me a piece of 
turkey, but if you can’t send turkey send oranges,’ and the 
first thing I see in the papers this morning, was a invite 
to this dinner.” 

“Sho!” said the first speaker, who had listened atten- 
tively to the recital. 

“It is funny and pathetic, too,” said Mr. Burton, in- 
terested in the “ Confession of Faith ” by this newsboy 
of nine years. 

“I’m going to learn my sick sister a prayer, ’cause I’m 
afraid she’s going to die, and she ought to say: 

* If I should die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take.’ ” 

the boy went on, earnestly and sadly. 

“Well, I s’pose that prayer was written for sick folks. 
I always want to say, ‘I don’t believe I will, though,’ 
every time I say it myself,” his companion said honestly. 

“ I have thought that, too,” said Miss Cragie softly. 


13 


194 


jack’s afire, 


“It is a very trusting, comprehensive prayer for the 
little ones,” said Madie in the same low tone. 

When the dinner was eaten, Mr. McLean told them to 
“sit quietly and listen to some music.” 

Madie sang, not one, but many pieces ; lullabies, 
school songs, and childish ditties, and one and all join in 
the last sweet hymn : 

“ There’ll be something in Heaven for children to do." 

Yet it was not an entirely fortunate selection, for one 
little girl, with a pale, pinched face, said: “If they are 
going to have dishes to wash and rags to pick, I don’t 
want to go there.” 

“ I want to find that little boy and give him something to 
take to his sick sister,” said Madie, as she left the organ. 

It was surprising to learn how many had an invalid 
relative at home. 

“Have you anyone sick at your house ? ” Miss Cragie 
inquired of a tall, freckled-faced girl, who was looking at 
her with hungry eyes. It would take more than one 
Thanksgiving dinner to banish the lines that starvation 
had made there. 

“ No, ma’am, I hain’t no sick folks, but there’s them 
that would like a good bit to eat if they could get it. Ma 
hain’t got her pay for her last sewing, and it seems selfish 
o’ me to come and eat so hearty like, when they’re a’most 
starved. The rest of ’em couldn’t nohow spend the time 
to come yere to-day.” 

“That’s just the way with lots of ’em,” echoed a dozen 
voices. 

“Let us give a parcel to every one,” said Mrs. Grenall. 
So each child proudly carried home a fragment of the 
feast. 

“Dear little things,” said Uncle Joe. “Many of them 
are little more than babies.” 

Mr. McLean walked back with Madie, telling her more 
of his work than he had ever told another, save in his an- 
nual report. The young girl, with a heart full of loving 
sympathy, was an interested listener. 


OH, THE BUliTON TOliCH. 


195 


“I shall come sometime to take you with me to visit 
some of my poor, if I may?” 

She unhesitatingly answered, “I will go.” 

“Are you afraid of him now?” Jean enquired when he 
had gone. 

“Yes and no,” was the enigmatical reply. “ The after- 
noon is bright, but there is something about it that seems 
to say: ‘ This is the last, I am going.’ ” 

“All autumn days say that, Madie,” said her uncle, 
“ and some of these mornings we will open our doors and 
winter will come in and take possession.” 

“ I am always glad to see the days lengthen, and dread 
to have them grow short,” said Jean. 

Madie spent the night with her friend, and, for the first 
time, met the people who lived in the house that Miss 
Cragie called home. 

Miss Lenox bowed and smiled, and took an inventory of 
her attire. Mrs. Howe, “ wished for a better acquaint- 
ance,” and Miss Cragie doubted her. Mr. Warren’s 
“I’m real glad to meet you, my dear,” sounded genuine. 
While the good natured hostess made her feel that this 
visit was exactly what she most desired 

“ Some people would have chilled me, and I would not 
have known what to have said or done. I admire tact 
and genuine good feeling, and am always eager to say a 
kind word for a step-mother and a landlady; they are 
generally so maligned.” Madie said this to Miss Cragie 
when they were alone in the latter’s room. 


196 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XXIV 

HOLIDAYS AWAY FROM HOME. 

“Aunt Anna, will you go with me this afternoon? I 
want to purchase some Christmas gifts to send home.” 

“ Certainly, Madie, Will you go with us, Sarah?” 

Mrs. Carter would not have gone if Madie had re- 
quested her to do so, but here was a good opportunity to 
feel aggrieved, and she took advantage of it. 

“Never fear that I shall crowd myself along. I am 
accustomed to being overlooked, and ought not to mind 
it.” 

, In vain Madie tried to explain. “I knew you did not 
believe in Christmas presents, and that your cold was 
troubling you.” 

“We will not discuss the matter; I do not care to listen 
to excuses.” 

She had taken some of the brightness out of the day 
for Madie, and Mrs. Burton knew it. “I shall enjoy the 
shopping. Have you decided on what you wish?” she 
asked when they were in the carriage. 

“No, auntie, I want to get something pretty for each 
one ; but the purse and prettiness must match. It will 
be dreadful for the clerks.” 

“We will find something suitable, I have no doubt,” 
said her aunt encouragingly. 

Book, china, jewelry and dry goods stores were visited 
in turn. Finally, in sheer desperation, she made her pur- 
chases. “ I will buy these as a sort of ‘ mortification of 
the flesh,’ because I have been so undecided about every- 
thing,” she confessed to Mrs. Burton. 

In the mammoth bookstore, Avhich had greater attrac- 
tions for her than any of the others, a gentleman watched 
her from a distant ccunter, himself unobserved. “ She is 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


197 


suited now,” lie thought, as he saw her handling a book 
tenderly, but by the expression of her face he knew the 
price was beyond her purse. 

The clerk was trying to tell her that another volume 
was exactly what she wanted, and looked surprised when 
she did not agree with him. Then both turned and 
looked curiously at the rows of books again, as if they 
expected something nice and appropriate and cheap would 
appear. “I will take this,” taking a volume of poems that 
she had once rejected. “I don’t think I am quite satis- 
fied; there are so many things I should like to get, and I 
have no faith in my own judgment. I am really sorry to 
have troubled you so long.” 

“This is my business,” said the clerk with a smile. 
Madie was not one to sum it up in that way. Some peo- 
ple think if a person is paid for doing anything, he can 
be put through without a particle of sympathy, as long 
as he is kept in his line of business. 

“ I cannot say, by way of excuses, that I could not 
find anything else. I found too much else.” 

As they were leaving, the observant gentleman joined 
them. “Making Christmas purchases?” 

“ Yes, to send home. We always make a great deal of 
the day. How are your people getting along ? ” 

“ Nicely. We are to have a very large Christmas tree. 
You will come ? ” 

“ I have been a quite frequent visitor. I think you 
need not expect me to desert you at Christmas time. 
Have you noticed how eager and glad everyone looks to- 
day?” 

“If they do, they only reflect your face,” said Mr. Mc- 
Lean, which was the nearest approach to a compliment he 
had ever given. 

“I feel nearer home to-day than at any time since I left 
them, and that must be the reason foi* my happiness.” 

They did not drive home immediately, but went across 
the river into the park. At Mrs. Burton’s invitation, 
Mr. McLean accompanied them. The trees were loaded 
with frost work. “See!” said Madie joyously, “the year 


198 


jack's afire, 


% 

is trying to appear young again.” People, hurrying along, 
turned to look again at the bright happy face. It haunted 
many of them for the rest of the day, as if they had 
caught sight of a bright summer flower, blooming out in 
this wintry day, and yet Madie was not at all handsome. 

Mrs. Grenall and Miss Cragie — hastening on an er- 
rand of mercy — met them. “ I believe,” said the elder 
lady, “that Mr. McLean is deeply interested in that little 
Miss Burton.” 

“ I sincerely hope not. If he were ten years younger 
it might be a good thing for both. She might have some 
influence over him, but he is too strict in his ideas, and 
his puritanical notions are too deeply rooted; she would 
never be happy with him.” 

“I heartily agree with you,” said Mrs. Grenall. 

“I wonder why it is,” thought Madie in her own room 
that evening, “that I am always pleased to see him, but 
I cannot be quite my natural self when with him, and feel 
relieved when we have separated? And yet, I like him 
very much.” 

She went down to pack her box; Uncle Joe offered his 
assistance. “Thank you, uncle, but I want to do this 
myself.” More than one tear fell upon the parcels she was 
stowing away so tenderly and carefully. 

Two days before Christmas a box came to Madie. 
“ Open it,” said Mrs. Carter. 

“I can’t, auntie. They were sent for Christmas gifts. 
We always look at our presents on Christmas morning, 
and it would not seem as if that were for what they were 
intended if I looked at them now.” 

“You inherit all your mother’s sentimental, silly no- 
tions;” Mrs. Carter preserved a dignified silence concern- 
ing the box, after this conversation. 

Madie’ s eyes flashed at the contemptuous mention of 
her mother, but she made no reply. 

“ I am going to assist in decorating the chapel if I can 
get through my work in time, and I will not get home 
until late,” she explained to Mr. Burton. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


199 


“Then I shall send Thomas after you; I do not care to 
have you meet with another adventure.” 

“ I do not believe in placing a carriage at the disposal 
of a girl who is anxious to be independent,^'’ said Mrs. 
Carter sarcastically. 

“There, you and I differ,” her brother returned, in a 
tone that proved that argument would have little weight 
with him. 

They had finished decorating the usually bare walls, 
and were admiring their work. “ All is done but the 
mottoes. What shall we arrange as the principal text after 
‘ Peace on Earth ? ’ ” 

‘ “ God is Love,’ ” was Madie’s prompt reply to the min- 
ister’s question. 

“And ‘ Suffer Little Children ’ just opposite,” suggested 
Jean Cragie. 

So these texts were placed upon the wall. “ How beau- 
tiful it is,” said Mrs. Grenall. 

When the evening came, it was like a glimpse of fairy- 
land; flowers and evergreens, singing birds and bright- 
faced children; each one was dressed as neatly and pret- 
tily as circumstances would allow. Some had made a 
pitiful attempt to come out in the prevailing fashion. 

Mr. McLean invariably preached to all his flock that 
“ cleanliness was next to Godliness,” and these children 
had wrestled with soap and water. 

“ Say what you please about material clothes,” said Jean 
to Mr. Burton. “ They do make a sort of veneer for 
moral. Not an overly dressed, but a neat and tastily at- 
tired child or grown person, is cleaner in thought, word, 
and deed.” 

“It is amusing to see them compare their attire, ’J said 
Mrs. Burton. 

“I am always interested in seeing children get ac- 
quainted; they look at each other in open-mouthed, wide- 
eyed wonder, and as soon as they get near enough to 
touch each other, they feel of each other’s dress and are 
introduced without a third party’s interference. See 


200 


jack’s afire, 


those little girls with their heads turned to one side, study- 
ing each other ; they edge a little closer together ; now 
they are acquainted ; they have settled back in their seats 
comfortably, the braver one is speaking and the other is 
smiling and looking at her with sidewise glances.” 

Mr. Burton was evidently enjoying the evening. 

“ I feel as if we were suddenly transplanted from this 
busy, work-a-day world, to a land where all people are as 
the lilies of the field, and ‘ toil not, neither do they 

spin ’ ” Mrs. Grenall did not finish her sentence, for 

the children’s voices rang out in glad Christmas carols. 

“Will you sing to-night?” Mr. McLean asked, as he 
joined the group. 

“ No, I am grown-up, and we are not in a grown-up 
n\;orld to-night; this must be a children’s entertainment; 
I a^ too large and too real,” Madie answered. The rev- 
CTehd gentleman smiled at her words ; she was no larger 
than many of the children who were there, but he ac- 
cepted her excuse. “I pay it the highest compliment in 
my power when I say I wish everyone I know and love 
could be here to-night,” she said earnestly. 

Each little one, full of importance when his name was 
called, trudged to the front to receive his gift. 

“The best of all is, not one has been forgotten.” Mrs. 
Grenall’s face glowed with good-will as she spoke. 

“ I cannot bestow a gift upon each one, but I have 
enough love in my heart to give them a good wish apiece, 
and a good word and smile to as many as will see or hear 
me,” and Madie nodded and smiled to a little girl near her 

The child hid her face behind her brother ; then 
peeked out to see if Madie were looking, and smiled back 
at her, and the next day told her playmates of the “pitty 
yady that ’miled at me.” 

Mr. McLean made his way to Madie s side as she was 
leaving the chapel. “I am coming for you to make those 
calls with me before very long ; I sliall see you to-morrow 
and then we can make arrangements.” Miss Cragie hear- 
ing him, wondered, with a thrill of horror, if Mrs. Grenall 
were not right in her conjectures. 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


201 


“ Mr. McLean will call here to-morrow,” was the in- 
formation Madie had given to her aunts as she bade them 
good night. 

“You invited him, did you not?” Mrs. Carter asked, 
and Mrs. Burton nodded. 

“I believe he is a little interested in her, although I 
can hardly think that she is the kind of a girl for him to 
admire ; 1 shall use my influence in his favor. He will 
take some of that independence out of her ; she needs some- 
one to rule her.” 

If anyone had suggested to Mrs. Carter that she was 
revengeful, or believed in human slavery, she would have 
vehemently answered in the negative. She believed that 
every poor person should labor unceasingly. Madie at 
home ought to drudge from morning till night, but Ma- 
die at her wealthy uncle’s ought to be entirely governed 
by her wishes and Hattie’s. With the exception of the 
few years of her married life, she had always lived with 
her brother Joseph; and Hattie, who had been the object 
of her care since her babyhood, was more to her than all 
the rest of the world. 

Mr. Burton did not hear his sister’s remarks, and, man- 
like, did not hear wedding bells every time a man and 
woman conversed together for fifteen consecutive min- 
utes. If he had heard, his niece would have been saved 
from some dark days in the future. 

Madie hastily drew on her morning dress and ran down 
stairs the next morning. She opened the kitchen door 
and called: “Merry Christmas,” tossing a parcel contain- 
ing a trifling remembrance for each of the workers there. 

“Bless me sowl, if she ain’t after trating me as if I was 
half whoit and free born,” said the cook^ 

“Merry Christmas, Uncle Joe!” 

He opened his arms and she ran into them. 

“Dear uncle!” stroking his white hair, “I am so glad 
that if I am to be away from home, I can be with you.” 

Aunt Anna kissed her lovingly, but Aunt Sarah only 
said: “Good morning, Madeline!” 


202 


jack’s afire, 


She had placed her offering to her uncle and aunts by 
the plate of each, when she passed through the dining- 
room. 

“ Shall we open the box now?” 

“Yes, uncle, if you please.” 

“You had better be sure that the hour is just right. 
If you should make a mistake of a few minutes it would 
be dreadful,” said Mrs. Carter. 

“It is too late if anything, for we have not allowed for 
the difference in time.” Uncle Joe had the cover off by 
this time. “Now, Madie, take out the things yourself.” 

“There is something for each of you, and for Hattie 
and Mr. Lawrence, and Harry Lee, and here is a note 
from Christa : 

Dear Little Sister: 

I am in a hurry and can write but a few words. I 
hope you will enjoy the articles sent you, as well as we 
have in preparing them. Mamma and I wanted you to 
have something that we made ourselves; so we send you 
the little embroidered jacket and the silk mittens. We 
thought they would be nearer gifts. 

I am keeping .the Torch burning a little. We are none 
of us in the dark at least. I think we can manage until 
you get home, although we do miss you so very much. 

Leon is well, and I am sure would send love if he could. 
Love and a Merry Christmas from all to all. 

Christa.” 

Madie’ s head sank lower and lower, as she read. 
When she had finished, she dropped down beside the 
empty box and sobbed aloud. 

Uncle Joe bent over her tenderly, and Aunt Anna 
wept with her; but Mrs. Carter, with a contemptuous 
smile on her lips; walked slowly through the parlor into 
the dining-room. Tears were disgraceful in her judg- 
ment, while sensitiveness and kindly feeling, though not 
exactly crimes, were qualities to be ashamed of. 

At the breakfast table Mr. and Mrs. Burton were 
pleased to find a volume for each from a favorite author. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 203 


and thanked Madie heartily. Mrs. Carter turned her 
book over and over, as if she were afraid of it. 

“Don’t you like it, Aunt Sarah?” 


“Q-u-i-t-e w-e-1-1, still I never admired Holland ^reat- 
ly.” 


“ Why, auntie, I thought I had heard you say that you 
liked him,” Madie exclaimed sorrowfully. 

“I do, passably well, but I can’t grow enthusiastic over 
his works.” 

When Madie had gone from the room, Mr. Burton 
spoke warmly. “ I do think that you might have been 
grateful for that child’s gift.” 

“Well, we’ll not argue. I think gifts should be care- 
fully selected.” 

“ She studied a long time as to what to get for you, 
and I agreed with her that the Letters would be interest- 
ing,” said Aunt Anna. 

“I think I have already said that we would not argue 
the question. I do not care at all for the book, but I can 
make the best of it and keep quiet, I suppose.” 

Madie was disappointed and went slowly up the broad 
stairs. In her room another gift awaited her. Dickens’ 
works complete were there on a handsome shelf. “For 
our dear niece,” was written on the card. She ran down 
stairs. “ You dear, splendid people, I thank you over 
and. over again,” she cried. 

“We are highly pleased with our dear, splendid niece’s 
appreciation of us and our gifts,” said Mr. Burton merrily. 

The postman brought a memento from the cousins and 
Ealph in Colorado. When the sweet Christmas service 
was through, Miss Cragie and Mr. . and Mrs. Lawrence 
came, each with a Christmas gift. 

“I am getting a great deal more than I deserve,” said 
Madie. 

Late in the afternoon Mr. McLean rang the bell, and 
was welcomed as an invited guest. Madie, a little sur- 
prised, greeted him quietly, but Miss Cragie, who was 
watching Mrs. Carter, saw through it all and thought, “I 
will beat you yet, my dear schemer.” 


204 


jack’s afire, 


Mr. McLean was evidently interested in Madie. She 
was a constant revelation to him. He had been very 
little in ladies’ society, and had determined years before 
that he would never marry. Even at the present time no 
thought of matrimony had entered his mind. 

“ I do not believe I could find a woman to suit me if I 
desired a wife. I should not like one who would be an- 
tagonistic in her ideas; neitherwouldl want one who had 
no opinion on topics of interest. I do not care for pets. 
Fashionable ladies are frivolous, and I could not abide a 
fault-finding woman. I think I can do better in my chosen 
field of labor if I am not encumbered with a wife and 
family.” So he had reasoned for years, but the grand 
overthrower of reason had not yet aimed his darts at 
him. 

The conversation turned upon authors and their works. 
Madie learned, to her dismay, that Mr. McLean denounced 
many of her favorite Authors. “ Novels are not good for 
anyone,” he sententiously observed. 

“ For my part,” said Miss Cragie, “ I think that one 
needs something in the way of food besides corned-beef 
and potatoes three times a day the year round. A little 
dainty food for dessert will not harm anyone. So with 
literature, I do not believe in having it all solid. A little 
poetry and fiction — pleasant, healthy fiction, with an em- 
bodied idea of truth shining through the pages — is restful 
to the mind. I like to know something of the age in 
which I live, and lean get a pretty good idea of real people 
from the better grade of novels published to-day. It is 
a grand thing to be possessed of a fund of general inform- 
ation.” 

“ Then you should read history,” said Mr. McLean. 

“ Most people who read history begin way back 
with Cyrus and Alexander, and, unless they are blest 
with extreme longevity, never get through the middle 
ages.” 

“You are correct in your supposition. The masses of 
our people know less of the ‘ Great Rebellion’ to-day than 
of the Revolution,” said Mr. Burton. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


205 


At Mr. Lawrence’s request Madie went to the piano, 
and the subject was dropped. 

Mr. McLean was not at all pleased with Miss Cragie’s 
remarks. “ If I were interested in Miss Burton I should 
not allow her to associate with Miss Cragie as much as she 
does; she is too independent for a woman.” 

The object of his disapproval was inwardly amused, for 
she divined his thoughts. 

Dinner over, in spite of Miss Cragie’s maneuvers, he 
had a chance to speak with Madie. 

“If you will be at liberty the day after to-morrow, I 
will call for you to accompany me on one of my rounds in 
this vicinity. If you choose, you can do this visiting 
yourself afterward.” 

Miss Cragie heard and smiled scornfully. “That poor 
child is overworked now, and with Mrs. Carter’s fault- 
finding at home, she will be completely prostrated by 
spring.” When she saw that Mr. McLean was about to 
leave, she arose. “ I must go home early as I have some 
work that must be done,” she said truthfully. “ Mrs. Bur- 
ton, I think you are fully aware that I have enjoyed the 
day.” 

“ Come often and help us to make Madie’ s stay enjoy- 
able,” said Mrs. Burton kindly. 

“Wait a moment, and I will accompany you.” 

“No, no, Mr, McLean, do not leave on my account; I 
can put myself in charge of a policeman at the corner,” 
she answered in a tone of remonstrance, yet with the joy- 
ous consciousness that she was scoring one ahead of Mrs. 
Carter, 

They went out from the handsome house together. The 
young lady chatted pleasantly upon subjects that she 
knew were interesting to the grave man beside her. 

“Mr. McLean!” — abruptly changing the subject — “if 
you need visitors among your poor, I will go whenever 
my duties will permit, and Mrs. Grenall will devote a 
great deal of time to the. work. Miss Burton would, I 
think, but she is a delicate girl, and I am afraid that she 
has more than she is able to do already.” 


206 


jack’s afire, 


“Has she? I spoke to her this afternoon and she 
seemed willing to take up the work.” 

“ Oh, yes. She would promise to sit up all night and 
work all day, if she could benefit anyone by so doing. 
She never counts herself first.” 

“She seems very devoted.” 

“Madie Burton never seems anything; it is all reality 
with her.” 

“Perhaps I had better not call for her.” 

“Yes, if you have asked her; but do not give her an ex- 
tensive round.” 

“I shall be careful. You are overworked, too.” 

“I can spare a little time now and then, Mr. McLean. 
I have a contempt for trickery. I heard you when you 
were talking with Madie and I offered to help for her 
sake.” 

“ If you are willing to take another burden to save a 
friend, I think I can shield you both from the heavier 
duties attendant upon the work. I have found one woman 
who can be kind and considerate to another,” he said, 
more cordially than he had ever spoken to her. He came 
near admiring this girl at that moment. 

“There are many such,” she briefly answered. 

Madie hurried through her work on the twenty-seventh 
of December, and went to her uncle’s. Her head was ach- 
ing badly. She found Mr. McLean waiting for her, and, 
not waiting to rest, started out. In the first tenement 
house they entered, Madie was surprised at the cleanli- 
ness of the room and the politeness of the occupants. 

“How very neat it is here.” 

“ These are among the better class of my people.” 

In one room they found a little sick girl. “She ought 
to go out in the sunshine,” said Madie. 

“Yes, miss, I knows it! But the boys in the alley are 
that mean to her, and make fun of her for creeping along 
so slow like, that I can’t bear to let her go no more. I 
thinks the world of Yanie, and I lets her sleep all the 
mornings, but she don’t seem r oted. She is an awful 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


207 


nice little girl, and I don’t likes to see her get so veak and 
veaker all the times.” And the poor Norwegian mother 
wiped her eyes with her apron. 

“Janie shall have a ride the first bright day. I will 
speak to my uncle about it.” 

“You have made one heart glad,” said Mr. McLean as 
they hurried away, after the woman had shaken hands 
with each of them, expressing her thanks, as she had been 
accustomed to in the “Old Country.” 

“Two,” said Madie, “for I am glad myself.” 

They went from one tenement to another. In some 
they had struggled to make the rooms presentable, and in 
others they were filthy and vile. “I want to see some of 
the lower types of humanity,” said Madie; so he hurried 
her through these places. 

“ You must not come to these alone.” 

Little children ragged and helpless, drunkenness, dirt 
and poverty visible everywhere. 

“ I do not wonder that you are grave,” she said with a 
great pity in her brown eyes for the misery and suffering 
she saw around her. “Do you carry tracts?” 

“Not often; they would not read them if I did.” 

“I should like to bring clothing and food, and a plant 
or fiower.” 

“Many of them have the regular beggar’s whine. You 
will meet with more of this class at Christmas time than 
during any other month of the year. People expect it, and 
are more liberal at this season.” 

“ Some are too proud to ask for aid even now, and 
they are the people I most want to help.” 

They walked along silently in the gray twilight. “She 
will be fitted for the work,” he thought, and congratulated 
himself on having such a willing assistant. “I hope it is 
not too much to ask you to call on some of these people 
occasionally.” 

“No, I believe it will help me. I have thought, many 
times, that my lot was a hard one, but after the experience 
of to-day, I hardly think that I shall again.” So the poor 
in that part of the city came to look for the coming of the 


208 


jack’s afire, 


little girl in gray, who never failed to bring aid and sym- 
pathy, and kindly words with her. 

“ The last stranger to come this year,” said Madie, 
as she took her place at the breakfast table, on the 
thirty-first of December. “ Thinking about the three 
hundred and sixty-four days that have gone by makes 
me sad.” 

“ You had better think of what you will wear ‘ to re- 
ceive ’ in to-morrow,” said Mrs. Lawrence, who had called 
to make final arrangements for the New Years reception. 

“I decided as to that weeks go. I shall wear Aunt 
Sarah’s birthday gift.” For a moment a smile actually 
lighted the face of her grim relative. 

“Well, now about the luncheon.” Mrs. Lawrence pre- 
sented her bill of fare as she spoke. 

“Please excuse me for speaking, cousin Hattie, but 
I cannot come if you have wine on your tables.” Mrs. 
Lawrence looked annoyed, her mother puzzled, and Mrs. 
Carter decidedly angry. 

“Everyone does have wine,” was all the reason Hattie 
could give. 

“I hate to depart from the usual custom,” said Mrs. 
Burton. 

“ There you have some more of Bell’s prudery,” said 
Mrs. Carter, all the more crossly, because she knew that 
her niece was right and the others were wrong. 

Mr. Burton made no comments until Madie had gone 
to her work. Then when appealed to, said, “Madie is 
in the right, and she will not receive with you unless you 
banish wine from your bill of fare.” 

“It will look badly not to have her present, so I will 
h^ve to yield, but I do not think it at all nice of her to do 
so,” said Hattie. 

“Then you will really, ‘of two evils choose the least,’” 
said her father humorously. 

Because of the moral firmness of her western cousin, 
Mrs. Lawrence, who was a society leader, served tea and 
coffee, but no intoxicants on that New Years day. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


209 


“Madie is absolutely pretty in her ruby dress,” Aunt 
Sarah graciously declared. 

Uncle Joe and Mr. Lawrence, having made their round 
of calls, were rested, when they returned, at sight of the 
brilliant establishment and the prettily-dressed women. 

“ I am just as tired as if I had been hard at work all 
day,” said Madie, as she dropped into a chair before the 
grate in her room, and opened her portfolio to write a 
long letter home. 


210 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEK XXV. 

BRAIN AND HEART. 

The winter was a gay one, and the lady reporters were 
very busy. 

“I wish when people are resolved to marry that they 
would choose some other time than 7:30 a. m. for the cere- 
mony,” said Madie one morning in February, after having 
been out late the night before. “I feel terribly old to- 

“ When Lent begins the fashionable world will subside 
into comparative quiet,” said Mrs. Burton who had al- 
ready noticed how weary her niece really looked. 

Madie went out into the clear, frosty air of the morning. 
Little boys were running along the street leaving delicate 
envelopes and parcels at many of the doors. “ Why, it is 
St. Valentine’s day, and I had quite forgotten it. The 
day is cold and cheerless, if the sun does shine brightly. 
It says good morning to your face and leaves you there 
as if its duty were done ; it does not extend its bright in- 
fluence beyond to warm the heart. Like some people it 
is chillingly polite. The wedding reminds me of the day — 
showy, but with nothing very tender about it. Here I have 
dreamed the entire morning. I will go and see Jean and 
try and get awake.” As she turned a corner she met Mr. 
McLean. 

“Through for the day?” he enquired. 

“Until evening only. I am going to call on Miss Cra- 
gie. She has not been well for a few days.” 

“I hope it is nothing serious.” 

“Only a severe cold. It will keep her from work for 
a time. She would not give up until really ill.” 

“I hear words of praise for you whenever I go to your 
district.” 

am fully repaid for the little J have doue then,’' 


OE, THE BUETON TOECH. 


211 


“Do you report to-morrow night?” 

“I do not think I shall. I have received no notice as 
yet.” 

“I was going to ycur uncle’s when I met you. Gough 
speaks to-morrow evening at Music Hall. Will you go?” 
He had never given an invitation of this kind, and was 
awkward in proffering the request. 

“Thank you! it will be a relief to listen and not be 
obliged to transfer it to paper.” 

Madie ran up to her friend’s room. “Alone all day? 
That must seem strange to you.” 

“ It seems very nice once in a while. 1 have had a 
real pleasant time getting acquainted with myself.” 

“ Well, how do you like youV^ 

“Quite well to-day, but there are times when it makes 
me almost frantic to think that I will have to spend all my 
life with me.” 

Madie laughed. “Did you receive any valentines? 

“No; but a pleasant, friendly letter came this morning, 
and that is much nicer. The days when valentines ‘ glad- 
ened my senses and charmed my heart ’ have passed away 
with other youthful pleasures ; I used to get them when I 
was at the gushing age, but those are by-gone days. Still,” 
she continued, speaking as if to herself, “I like to go 
back even now, to memory’s beautiful past, and to be a 
child while there, and then I enjoy fervently and heartily 
my childhood days. I wonder if, as the years lengthen, I 
Avill still cherish a tender feeling for childish things be- 
cause of what was, or will I scoff at youthful sports and 
enjoyments, as so many middle-aged and elderly people 
do ? It is painful to see a child who takes pleasure in 
nothing childish. There is too much oldness in the world. 
I have seen a few blessed old people who carried their 
youthful hearts with them ; they are very different from 
the gushing elders, who try to appear young, yet their 
very manners prove that it is the years that have swept over 
them which they are trying to make you forget, and not 
the kindly, youthful feeling that has remained with 
them.” 


212 


jack’s afire, 


“ I see you have not finished visiting with yourself, so I 
will leave you.” 

“Stay to dinner, and I will become more general in my 
conversation.” 

“ I shall have to go to Uncle Joe’s before I go out for 
the evening. Can I do anything for you before I go?” 

“No, dear, you have done a great deal for me by call- 
ing here this afternoon.” * 

When Madie reached home, she found a fair-hfeired 
lady in conversation with her Aunt Anna. 

“ Mrs. LaSelle, this is my niece.” 

“Miss Burton, I have been trying to call on you ever 
since you came, but I have a private school, and my elder 
daughter is not at all well, so the days have gone by and 
you have been neglected.” 

Madie’ s heart went out to the pleasant lady immediately ; 
she spoke impulsively. “ I am glad you have called now, 
at any rate. I have often noticed your little ones at the 
window when passing ; and I remember distinctly of meet- 
ing you on a car a few days after I came ; I have remem- 
bered your face.” 

Mrs. LaSelle had seen trouble, but her sprightly nature 
rebounded quickly, and those who knew her welcomed her 
as cheerfully as a ray of light to their home. 

“ Is your little girl better ? ” 

“I think so; she has never been very strong. My little 
boy and younger daughter love to romp and play, but she 
has never done so. She is such a quiet child. Come and 
see me very soon, will you not ? ” 

“Yes, I shall want to see you, and am anxious to talk 
with the children. I have brothers and sisters at home.” 

“I shall expect you. How pretty your plants are! 
Mine do not do well this winter. Annie may be wanting 
me and I must hurry home.” 

“I thought, when I first saw her, that I should like to 
know her, and now I feel acquainted,” said Madie, when 
the caller had gone. 

“She is an officer’s widow. I think her husband died 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


213 


while in the regular service, as I have heard her speak of 
being out on the plains. She is very busy and goes but 
little,” said Mrs. Burton. 

. When Madie came back the next evening she noticed a 
wan little face at the window, and two round eager faces 
beside it. “Aunty, may I have a few of your roses? I 
am going to take them over to Annie LaSelle.” 

“Certainly, Madie, and gather some geraniums and 
fuchsias, too.” 

She ran across the street. Mrs. LaSelle met her in the 
doorway. “I am just as glad as can be! Come right in. 
Annie, see what Miss Burton has brought you.” The pale 
face was already buried in the rich blossoms. “Albert, 
Irene, this is Miss Burton.” The children came forward 
shyly, but Madie drew them toward her and all three were 
soon interested in the little lady, who understood so well 
what would please the children. She told them of her 
own brothers and sisters, and of the merry times they had 
at home. Annie smiled from her corner and once laughed 
outright. 

“I wish you’d stay longer,” said Irene sorrowfully, 
when she bade them good night. 

“ I can’t now, but I will come again.” 

“Will vou have to wait for mamma to return your 
call?” 

“No, I think not,” said Madie, bending over and taking 
Annie’s little transparent hand in her own. 

“ Come every day, please,” whispered the invalid. 

“I will whenever I can possibly do so.” 

“ She likes to have me read to her,” said Mrs. LaSelle. 

“ I have a few books that I think would interest you, 
and I will try and give you a few minutes to-morrow.” 
Madie kissed her and went back to her uncle’s. 

Mr. McLean was thirty-five years of age and had never 
escorted a yoang lady anywhere, except on a missionary 
round, until this evening. He was a little surprised him- 
self at the strange proceeding. 

Madie was full of fancies and could not keep from ut- 


214 


jack’s afire, 


tering some of them. She even felt as if she were ac- 
quainted with him to-night. 

The lecturer stirred the audience ; melted them to tears ; 
and awoke shouts of laughter, by his stories, personations 
and original arguments. “He draws a crowded house 
every time he comes and has for more than twenty years,” 
Madie heard a gentleman behind her say to a friend. 

Mr. McLean was coldly critical, yet for a moment he 
felt as if he needed some of this man’s fire, and pathos, and 
wit. 

Madie enjoyed it thoroughly. “ He felt every word he 
said and that gave a double meaning to his sentences. He 
interested his audience because he was himself interested. 
I must remember to tell my folks at home about it.” 

“ When do you go home ? ” 

“ I have planned to go for a little while next summer. 
I am not going to tell them a word of my coming, for I want 
to surprise them. It will add to the pleasure of all. I 
do not intend to stay here more than two years ; that is if 
I am successful.” 

For an instant this thought flashed through the man’s 
mind: “ How dreary it will be in the city without her,” 
but he resolutely put it from him. People who listened 
to his sermons, however, noticed that they were more ten- 
der and full of forgiveness than formerly, and wondered 
not a little at the change. 

“ You ought not to encourage beggars as you do, when 
you are here with us. Our back door will soon be 
thronged,” said Mrs. Carter the next day. 

“But, Aunt Sarah, I like to help them if they are in 
need,” Madie said coaxingly. 

“A great many of them do not need help any more than 
you yourself.” 

“Then I am sorry for them, if they are wicked enough 
to cheat me in this way. Some of them need help and I 
cannot discriminate between the needy and the needless. 
I had rather believe nine guilty persons innocent than one 
innocent person guilty.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


215 


“Well, we’ll not argue, but I think it wrong to offer a 
premium on laziness You are undeniably stingy in the 
purchasing of your own clothing. Such a good salary as 
you receive and only two new dresses since you came, and 
one of those I gave to you.” 

“ I am putting by my money for a purpose ; getting 
ready to take care of the family, if it is necessary.” 

“ You’ll undoubtedly be called upon, but you will be a 
long time in getting ready.” 

Madie had become accustomed to her aunt’s sneers, and 
could keep the tears back, as she could not at first, yet 
each word stung her. 

“I will go over and read to Annie, and that will quiet 
me,” she thought. 

Taking A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite' s Life, fro^n 
her shelves, she went to her new friends, and was soon 
entertaining the mother and children with the pleasant 
story, given in her sweet, sympathetic voice. She knew 
nothing of the tricks of elocution, but each character 
stood before them as she read. 

Irene leaned upon her and the others sat very near. 
“Will you come to-morrow?” Annie asked wistfully. 

“ Every day, if I can.” It was very pleasant for Madie 
to know that one face brightened at her coming, that one 
pair of eyes followed her every day when she went to 
her work. 

“ I am not going to the office at all to-morrow,” Madie 
announced one day toward the end of the month. 

“I am going to have Annie spend the day with me.” 
She went for her early in the morning, helped her tenderly 
across the street, and entertained her with pictures, and 
music, and pleasant stories. 

“Are you very tired?” Mrs. LaSelle enquired when 
she was carried home to her. 

“A little; but I am happy; the smile was still on 
her lips as she sank back among the soft pillows. 
When she had rested, she told her mamma, Albert 
and Irene, how the day had been spent, and repeated 


216 jack’s afire, 

some of the funny anecdotes that Madie had told and read 
to her. 

“ She is coming to stay with me some evening before 
long, and sing me to sleep.” 

“ I heard something dreadfully mean to-day,” Mrs. Car- 
ter was saying when Madie returned from Mrs. LaSelle’s, 
“ and I just think it ought to be published.” 

“ Don’t tell it, please,” said Madie hurriedly. “ When 
people hear of a wicked deed or saying, they say ‘that 
ought to be published ! ’ When I can see or hear anything 
nice, I say ‘that ought to be published, and then our readers 
will know that the world is growing better.’ When I have 
control of a paper or magazine, that is what I am going to 
do. My paper shall be a civilizer, and a clean sheet.” 

“ Oh, you aspire to the position of editor in chief. I 
presume your paper will be perfect. Madeline, you grow 
more egotistical every day.” 

Madie did not reply. She had never come so near to 
divulging her cherished plans as she had on this evening, 
and she was frightened at her rashness. 

When she went to the office the next morning, the edi- 
tor handed her a note from Miss Oragie. 

“Dear Madie: 

Come to me after church, Sunday. My cold is 
no better. 

Jean.” 

The editor seemed provoked at her for being sick. “ It 
inconveniences us greatly.” 

“ I will do some of the extra work. I think Miss Cra- 
gie is inconvenienced herself by this illness.” 

‘ I have no doubt but she is ; still, our paper has to be 
gotten out, full of news, no matter what happens.” He 
turned to his desk and began to write rapidly, but 
paused in a few moments, and turned to Madie: “If you 
could help us with the music or dramatic reporting this 
evening!” 

“I will do all I can. Miss Jean has never failed to 
help me with my work.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


217 


“ I am greatly obliged, and will see to the rest.” 

It was late when Madie reached the corner where the 
brown cottage stood. “ I mnst run in for a minute, or 
Annie will miss me.” 

She told of a collision she had witnessed, between a 
woman with a poodle, and a newsboy, as the former was 
leaving and the latter entering a crowded car; and left 
Annie in smiles. 

Mr. McLean was in the back parlor talking with Mrs. 
Carter. “ I believe Aunt Sarah likes him,” she thought. 
She talked Avith both for a few moments and then excused 
herself. 

‘‘Come back; Mr. McLean has been talking with me 
for some time, and you ought to entertain him.” 

“ I think, auntie, that Mr. McLean will excuse me when 
I tell him that I have to go out again to-night.” 

“Why, Madeline! Thomas is away, and who will go 
with you? Your uncle and aunt are both at Hattie’s. You 
were so late home to dinner that we did not think you would 
go back again to-night.” 

“I shall have to hurry back alone, then,” she called 
from the stairs, half vexed with her aunt for bringing the 
affair out before Mr. McLean. 

When she returned the minister was still there. 

“ Miss Burton, if you will allow me, I will willingly ac- 
company you.” 

“It is very awkward; I am doing Miss Cragie’s work 
to-night, and Thomas was not aware of this change in the 
programme of my work.” 

“I understand, and, because of the understanding, I am 
at your service,” he said pleasantly. 

“ I am greatly obliged to you, and will be ready in a 
moment.” 

The opera was new to Madie ; and the Swedish song- 
stress Avas at her best. She did not see the magnificent 
toilettes, nor hear the applause; Avatching the stage as 
if it were all for her, and Avriting rapidly Avhen the cur- 
tain dropped. 

When the last note faded like some SAveet flower on 


218 


jack’s afire. 


the perfumed air, the fair singer was called to the front 
and sang a familiar ballad in her rich tender voice. 

“ Let us go,” said Madie, exerting all her powers of 
self-control to keep back the sobs. “I can’t stay here 
any longer.” When she was seated in the coupe, the tears 
would come; “I must leave this copy at the office.” Mr. 
McLean carried it in for her, 

“I ought to beg your pardon for hurrying you away in 
that style. It was foolish, perhaps, but I could see mamma 
and Christa and all the dear ones at home, and it seemed 
as if my heart would break.” 

No text presented itself just then, but he spoke almost 
tenderly to her. “Miss Madeline ” — using her given name 
for the first time — “ I am very sorry to see you so home- 
sick and grieved, but you must not put your strongest 
love on earthly things.” 

His words dried Madie’ s tears effectually. 

“ If I did not love my mother I do not believe I could 
find any love in my heart to give to God, for I would not 
be capable of great affection.” 

“ I did not wish you to understand that I thought it 
was wrong for you to like your own people. It is per- 
fectly right and proper.” 

“ When I love people, I love them a great deal and am 
happy when with them.” 

A strange impulse, to tell her that he wished he could 
be counted among those she loved, came upon him. “I 
believe she would be a help to me. But no ; I had better 
not! I have given my whole heart to my Father.” 

“I wonder if I have offended him. I hope not, for he 
has been so kind to me.” She put out her hand timidly: 
“Mr. McLean, did I say anything to annoy you?” 

“ I should be very foolish, indeed, to be so easily an- 
noyed.” The tear-stained face was near to his own; he 
drew nearer, but he prided himself on his perfect self-con- 
trol and leaned back in the corner of the carriage. 

When he returned to his lodgings he thought long and 
seriously. “ I will study her more closely. She inter- 
ests me more than anyone I have ever met, and yet I 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


219 


cannot understand why it so.” He tried to analyze this 
new affection and its cause. He was destined to learn 
that love and the people we love and the reason we love 
them, is as far beyond human ken as is the Author of Love 
and Faith and Hope. When we reach this point we are on 
the borderland between the finite and infinite. 


220 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEK XXVI. 

AS VARIED AS LIFE. 

Mrs. LaSelle’s face was very sad when Madie called 
to see Annie one afternoon, having finished her work 
early. “I will stay with our patient while you go for a 
walk; you will feel better after an airing.” 

“I cannot go to-day; Annie is not so well.” 

“ Perhaps I might disturb her, so I will not go in, but 
will go to see my friend Jean, instead.” 

The sharp ears of the sick child had caught her words, 
“Miss Burton.” 

“Well, dear.” 

“Is your friend very sick?” 

“She cannot leave the house, but I hope she is not 
‘ very sick.’ ” 

“Is she all alone?” 

“There are others in the boarding-house, but she is 
alone, in her room, nearly all the time.” 

Annie turned her face to the wall, that Madie might 
not see her disappointment. 

“ My friend does not expect me until to-morrow, so I 
will stay with you, darling.” 

The little girl was smiling now. “I do not want 
to be selfish, but I have looked for you all day.” Madie 
read a letter from Bert and Benjie, and then finished the 
book she had been reading aloud. 

“ Tell us some of your own stories, please; I think I 
like them best.” So Madie told one pleasant story after 
another, and even restless Albert sat still and listened to 
them. 

“Mamma,” whispered Irene, “Annie wants Miss Bur- 
ton to stay to dinner.” 

“Tell her to ask her, dear.” Annie gladly gave the 
invitation, which Madie readily accepted. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


221 


Mother and children bowed their heads and said a silent 
grace when seated around the daintily-arranged table. 

“It is almost like home here,” said Madie. 

“I am glad of that,” said her hostess. 

“ It will make you come oftener, won’t it ? ” asked Annie. 

“I shall spare you a few minutes every day while I am 
here.” Madie kept her word. No matter how much there 
was to do, nor whether Aunt Sarah fretted or scolded, she 
visited the sick child daily. 

Mrs. LaSelle took a shawl from the wardrobe and went 
down to the street with Madie. 

“ What do you want to tell me?” she asked, taking the 
mother’s arm. 

“I took Annie to a physician yesterday. He told me 
her lungs were badly affected and that there was no hope 
for her.” 

Madie put her arms around her. “Oh, my dear, how 
sorry I am.” 

“I was afraid of it before I consulted a physician. 
She is so like her father. He died of consumption. I 
have to be cheerful before the children, but it is so hard.” 

“Dear Mrs. LaSelle, I will try to help you bear this. 
She may be better when spring comes.” 

When the sad mother joined her little ones, Irene called 
out in childish surprise. “Why, mamma, what makes 
your eyes so red?” 

“ You must go to your lessons, Albert,” she said, ignor- 
ing the question. 

Annie looked at her with her brilliant, hollow eyes, 
but did not say a word. 

The next day Madie spent an hour with the invalid, be- 
fore she went to her friend. “She is surely better to- 
day. She looks so much brighter. I almost know she 
will be well when the weather gets pleasanter,” she said 
to Mrs. LaSelle. 

“I wish I could think so,” was the sad answer. 

Miss Cragie was rapidly convalescing. “I can go to 
work to-morrow,” she said. “How did you get along 
with the extra work?” 


222 


jack’s afire, 


“Nicely. Mr. McLean was my escort one evening to 
the opera.” Miss Oragie looked annoyed. 

“ I was sorry I was not able to hear Gough. I always 
like to hear him.” 

“I heard him. Mr. McLean went with me there, too.” 

“Worse and worse,” Jean thought, vexed at herself for 
being ill. 

“We are going to hear Wendell Philips next week.” 
Madie told this to her friend, because she thought she 
wbuld rejoice with her at this opportunity to see and hear. 
She looked upon Mr. McLean very much as she did upon 
her uncle. 

“ He is going to beat me in spite of my efforts!” 

“ I wonder what his given name is,” said Madie. 

“Whose ? Mr. McLean’s? He never has had any, 
I think. I couldn’t imagine anyone as being familiar 
enough to use a Christian name when addressing him. 
His mother must have understood this. I presume it was 
a very dignified pleasure to his parents when Mr. McLean 
took his first steps and began to talk.” 

Madie did not exactly enjoy these remarks, as her coun- 
tenance proved. 

“ I am in one of my moods to-night, so bear with me, 
please. Stay to dinner; you will be doing regular mis- 
sionary work. If you don’t, Mrs. Howe will sting away, 
and I shall feel positively wicked before the meal is 
ended.” 

“ I am anxious to do all the good I can,” said Madie, as 
she removed her hat. 

“It is nice to have you with me; I can talk or gloom, 
just as I choose, and if one wishes to read, the other 
politely allows her to do so.” 

“I hope your cold is better,” Mr. Warren said as they 
took their places at the table. 

“ Much better, thank you.” 

“ I see you have had our young friend with you, so the 
afternoon has been pleasant,” he said. Madie felt quite 
at her ease when she was seated beside the old gentleman. 

Mrs. Howe came sailing in. Good evening all! Miss 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


223 


Burton, I am really delighted to see you! ” There was so 
much unreality in the words, that Madie felt as if she had 
hardly heard them. “Miss Cragie, you did not attend 
service to-day!” Mrs. Howe had so much assurance, 
that she usually said her questions instead of asking 
them. 

“No, I am saying myself for to-morrow’s work.” 

“ Don’t you think, my dear, that you should have given 
a little of your strength to the Lord to-day, instead of 
saving it all for self to-morrow?” 

“ I think I have given more to him than I would had 
I taxed my strength to go to church.” 

“ I went, and there was a goodly representation from this 
house,” said Edie Lenox. “ I wore my new suit, but my 
gloves do not match it exactly. You don’t know how 
badly I felt.” 

“ Having experienced trouble myself, I can sympathize 
with you in your affliction.” Miss Cragie looked so sol- 
emn as she spoke, that Miss Lenox could not discern 
whether she were in jest or earnest. 

Mr. Warner was slightly amused. Mrs. Howe broke 
the silence. “You atf ended what church. Miss Burton? ” 

“ The Episcopal, that is the church my people have al- 
ways attended.” 

“Then you were brought up in that church? ” 

“Yes.” 

“They are a denomination I know very little about; but 
I guess they are very nice,” Mrs. Thomas hastened to say. 

“ Very much like the Koman Catholics — altogether too 
free and liberal to suit me,” said Mrs. Howe, as she 
leaned back to wait for the dessert. Madie flushed 
vividly. 

Miss Cragie looked at the fat lady opposite, and said 
frankly: “You have proven by your own words, that the 
denominations are not alike.” 

She knew that Mrs Howe would smile at her, and 
berate her soundly to the other boarders, but she did not 
hesitate to speak for Madie, whose feelings had been 
wounded, 


224 


jack’s afire. 


“Perhaps I said more than I should, but I am so de- 
voted to my own church.” 

“So, I presume, is my friend.” 

Mrs. Howe was very angry; but still smiling, she 
said: “ I beg your pardon. Miss Burton.” 

“Please do not do that; every person has a right to her 
opinion,” said Madie. 

“I thought that Miss Cragie would only stand on the 
defensive for her own church. I suppose you consider that 
above reproach.” 

“ I think that it will average, as one of the best and one 
of the worst persons I ever knew belonged to it,” she 
answered composedly. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Howe, you have on your new satin and I 
never noticed it until now,” lisped Miss Lenox, who was 
not enjoying the conversation. 

“Yes, pet, I finished it last night.” 

“You said yesterday that the dressmaker had not fixed 
the trimming as you wished, and you would not have time 
to alter it yourself, so I did not expect to see you wear it 
to-day.” 

“Well, I did finish it. I had so many callers that I 
was afraid I could not, and I particularly wished to wear 
it to-day, so I gathered up the dress and went to my 
room, and prayed that I might be left alone and per- 
mitted to finish my dress. I did not have another inter- 
ruption and finished the garment early in the evening. I 
believe in prayer. Miss Cragie.” 

“I also believe in prayer, but I could not do that. I 
have too much respect for God to ask him to let me finish 
a fashionable garment ‘ for Jesus’ sake.’ ” Her clear voice 
was low and reverent. 

“Every church has much of good in it; I admire any- 
one who is honest and consistent in his belief.” Madie 
looked* gratefully at Mr. Warren for his liberal speech. 

When they returned to the parlors Madie and Miss 
Cragie went in for a time. 

“Please sing something for me,” Mr. Warren requested 
of Madie. She sang a few of the old-time airs, songs that 


OB, THE BUETON TOKCH. 


225 


brought back his boyhood and his mother, and he saw 
the first love of his youth. 

“Thank you, my child, they have been real memory 
revivers.” 

Miss Cragie took a handsomely finished photograph 
from the table. “When did you have this done. Miss 
Lenox?” 

“They were sent home last night. Do you think it is 
so very horrid?” 

“No. It is a very good picture.” 

“Will you look at mine?” Miss Lenox’ shadow handed 
her one of his own. 

“I think I had rather look at ladies’ photographs than 
gentlemen’s, the transition is not so great,” Jean said, 
surveying the faces critically. “Edie looks as if she 
were posed for a picture most of the time; may I have 
one?” 

Miss Lenox was pleased with the request ; she really ad- 
mired this independent woman, if she did sometimes fail 
to understand her. 

Miss Cragie alternately petted and teased her. “I 
really like the child; you see I have not yet outgrown my 
love for dolls,” she had said to Madie that evening before 
dinner. 

“You can have it, if you wish. I didn’t think you 
would care enough for my photograph to ask for it. I 
have something of importance to tell you,” she said, lean- 
ing her head over until it touched Jean’s shoulder. 

“What is it? But, wait just a moment until I have 
spoken to Mrs. Howe.” That lady was moving along in 
her ponderous way. Jean met her as she was about 
to ascend the stairs. “Mrs. Howe,” frankly extending 
her hand, “ I am sorry that I said as much as I did 
at dinner. You are older than I, and I should have been 
more considerate of your feelings. The fact is I have 
been alone too much lately. It is no wonder that I am 
impolite, after having spent so much time with so rude a 
companion.” Mrs, Howe smiled and took the proffered 
hand. 


226 


jack’s afire, 


“ I forgive you, certainly,” she said in such an exasper- 
ating tone that Jean felt almost angry again. “Of course 
I cannot forget, I do not think it right or just to overlook 
these things.” 

“Do you believe in cherishing ill-will?” 

“I do not believe in saying things that one needs to 
take back; I never do myself.” 

“Are you really never sorry for anything you say 
or do?” 

“I am always very careful.” 

“ Then I am to understand that forgiveness is not in 
your religion.” 

“ Forgiveness, but not forgetfulness.” 

“ Then you do not take even half of the law, for you 
only remember in order to cherish spite.” 

Mrs. Howe was too deceitful to carry on a frank dis- 
cussion. “We will not talk further on the subject. Good 
night, Miss Cragie.” 

Before the next evening everyone in the house knew 
that Mrs. Howe disliked Jean cordially, and yet they 
could see no difference in her actions toward the girl. 

“When she says anything, it all comes back to me with ^ 
startling distinctness,” she said to Mr. Warren. 

“Miss Jean never says aught against you; she says 
she does not believe in cherishing ill-will toward any- 
one.” 

“Well, I do! I think it is perfectly right; and if Miss 
Cragie were to go where I never could see her again, I 
should not be at all sorry.” 

Jean, standing outside the door, tired and discouraged, 
said: “ I am glad Christ is to judge me instead of you.” 
The others were silent. 

So these two, because of different natures and different 
views, drifted apart; the one, sensitive and hurt, but al- 
ways frank ; the other, self-righteous and secretive ; when 
each might have found a friend in the other. 

On this evening, Jean, who had been disappointed at 
having her frank confession of wrong doing received in 
such a manner, went slowly back to the parlor. Mr, War- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 227 

ren and Madie were visiting together. She went to Miss 
Lenox. “ What have you to tell me, Edie?” 

“ Come up to my room, I cannot tell it here.” 

Smiling in spite of her heavy heart, Jean followed the 
child-woman to her room. 

“ I am going to let you guess.” 

“I am sure that I cannot.” 

“ Well then, see! ” and she turned the solitaire on her 
finger so that Jean could see its brilliant light. 

“Engaged to Mr. Erie?” 

“Yes.” 

“It is not hard to match such an article, and I ought 
not to be surprised,” she thought to herself. 

“I hope you will always be glad of this contract you 
have made,” she said to Edie. 

“ Oh, I am sure I shall. Mamma is satisfied, and so 
are all his people.” 

“ That is pleasant for both. I must go back or Madie 
will feel that I am neglecting her.” 

“ You can come and live with us when you get too old 
to work,” with a sudden burst of generosity. “ And you 
can oversee the house if you feel as if you must have some- 
thing to occupy your mind and time.” 

“ I am very grateful, but if I am an old maid I shall bo 
one for my own convenience. I am anxious to know what 
sort of a person I would be if I had nothing to do.” 

Miss Cragie looked with new interest at the young 
gentleman who was soon to become a Benedict. “ He is 
really in love, and no one can doubt that Mrs. Lenox is 
not highly pleased with this turn of affairs.” 

Edie sat near her lover, a little shy and pleased with 
his attention. 

“ If she had been differently reared and taught, or were 
to marry an earnest, manly man, she would develop into 
a very sweet, lovable woman. He has a fine home — or 
his father will give him one — a pet pointer and a horse. A 
wife, and canary, each in a handsome cage, will complete 
his picture of domestic bliss. I am afraid he has not 
enough decision of character. I must not think people 


228 


jack’s afike, 


over in this way. I shall soon be like Mrs. Howe, and 
have the virtues and vices of my acquaintances tabulated, 
so that I can refer to them at any time.” Jean plunged 
into gay conversation, while the entire company won- 
dered at her wit. 

During the following weeks Mr. McLean saw very little 
of Madie, who was occupied with her reportorial duties, 
trying to attend the Lenten services, and make her 
daily visits to her sick friend. One morning he received 
a note: 

“My Fbiend: — I must give my poor people back to you 
for a time. I feel as if I were needed more somewhere 
else. I may be able to take up the work by and by. Be 
assured that I will if I possibly can. 

Eespectfully yours, Madeline Bukton.” 

“She has become tired of the work, I presume. It is 
well that I have discovered her inability now, or I might 
have committed myself.” The day was a little gray after 
that, and he did not feel as satisfied with his work as 
usual. 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


229 


CHAPTEK XXVTI. 

I BELIEVE YOU. 

They were leaving the church one morning after an 
unnsnally beautiful service, when Madie said to her uncle, 
“I left all my work and care outside. Christ seems very 
near to me during these days. The services of com- 
memoration come right into our daily work, and I like it 
to be that way.” 

“Even if you meet the perplexing questions outside, you 
will be all the better able to solve them, I think. These 
noon prayer meetings that they are establishing in our 
large cities are a blessing to very many.” As Mr. Burton 
ceased speaking, Albert LaSelle came to Madie. 

“ Mamma wants to know, can you come over and read 
to Annie. She has to go away just at night, and Annie 
won’t have anyone but you.” 

“I will come as SQon as I can get away. I suppose 
your mamma will not go until I get there.” 

“No, ma’am. She said she would wait.” 

“Annie is so patient she makes me ashamed,” said 
Madie. 

“She is a very sweet child, and I will try and take her 
through the park this afternoon.” 

“ Oh, Uncle Joe, if you only could! Please not to tell 
her, Albert, for she will be so disappointed if she cannot 
go. Can you take little Janie for a short ride, after you 
have taken Annie?” 

“ I think it very likely, if I and my horses keep well,” 
he answered in a soberly funny way. 

Each child had a lovely ride through the park, visiting 
the green house and seeing the bears in their winter 
quarters. Annie fed them a part of her apple. 

Mr. Burton laid her on the couch just as Madie entered. 


230 


jack’s AI'IRE, 


“I shall come again, very soon,” he promised, and went 
out from the child’s presence with a mist before his eyes. 

Annie closed her eyes and lay quietly for some time. 
Madie thought she had never seen a purer, fairer face. 
“ She will get away from a great deal of care and trouble, 
but I hate to give her up, and it will be terrible for her 
mother.” 

“Miss Burton.” 

“Call me Madie, my dear.” 

“ Madie, will you read to me something from the Bible? 
I would like to hear that psalm, ‘ The Lord is my Shep- 
herd.’” 

The words were familiar to Madie, or she could not have 
read them, as her sight was dimmed with tears. 

Annie repeated slowly: “ Yea, though I walk through 
the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for 
Thou art with me.” 

“Don’t,” said Madie, sobbing. 

“I am going to die, Madie; it has hurt me in here so 
long. It hurt for a good while before I told mamma.” 
The little hands were laid over the tortured lungs. “Poor 
mamma has had so many things to be sorry for and this 
will be another.” 

“Maybe you will get better when it gets warm and 
pleasant.” 

“No. I shall never get better. Papa will be very 
glad to see me. Don’t you think so ? ” 

With a faith born of sudden conviction Madie answered, 
“ Yes.” 

“Don’t tell mamma what I have said. She can’t bear 
it yet.” 

Madie could not speak. “ I do not like tc see you cry. 
I am so tired; will you sing me to sleep? ’* 

When Mrs. LaSelle returned she found Annie asleep in 
Madie’ s arms. 

“Don’t disturb her; let her rest; she was very tired.” 

Madie rocked back and forth, singing a soft, sweet lul- 
laby. The curtain was up and the lamp tossed its bright 
rays out into the street, because there was enough to 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


231 


spare to the passers-by. The tall, weary man, who had 
been trying to conquer the impulse of his heart, went 
down from Mr. Burton’s door — not finding the girl who 
occupied so much of his thoughts — and saw across the 
street the cosy room and the sweet home picture. Just a 
hint of the sweet melody floated out to him. “ I shall 
not be doubtful of her zeal in the work again.” 

His own dreary room seemed hateful to him, in com- 
parison. “ I love her, and if God so wills it she shall be 
my wife. I know now why she has given up her work. 
It shall be our work some day.” 

People wondered more and more what had come over 
their grave pastor. “He just looks right at us now and 
sees us every time and smiles like everything,” observed 
one newsboy to another on the following Sabbath. 

When Annie awoke she found a dainty little supper 
prepared for her. “Are you very tired?” she asked 
anxiously. 

“ No, rested because you are.” 

“ Could you meet me at the car and go with me to the 
pension office to-morrow? I failed to meet my friends 
to-day. It is necessary to have two witnesses, and I 
cannot go nor send word to anyone to-night. You 
know that I am Mrs. LaSelle. Would it be asking 
too much for you to identify me? I cannot leave An- 
nie long, and I must have the money. I will not draw 
again for three months. Of course, if you have any 
compunctions of conscience, I do not want you to do it.” 

“ You say that all I will have to do will be to testify 
that you are Mrs. LaSelle?” 

“ That is all. Shall I show you my papers?” 

“ Do not mind. I will meet you at the terminus of our 
line of cars to-morrow afternoon.” 

At the appointed hour Madie went to meet her friend. 
She waited until several cars had come and gone. “ I 
shall have to go back to the office. Something has hap- 
pened to prevent her coming.” 

Another car came rolling along. Mrs. LaSelle stepped 
from the platform as soon as it halted. “ Annie is much 


232 


jack’s afire, 


Avorse. I couldn’t leave her until Mrs. Hale came to stay 
Avith her. We must hurry, or the office Avill be closed.” 

“Will your other friend meet you there?” 

“ He said he Avould, last night.” But Avhen they 
reached the large building they could not see a familiar 
face. 

“Oh, dear, Avhat shall I do? I promised Annie a quail 
and some other delicacies. She A^^ill be so disappointed. 
This is the last day, too.” Madie looked at her Avatch. 
It lacked only fifteen minutes of the hour for closing. 

Nervous and anxious, Mrs. LaSelle Avalked up and doAvn 
the hall. “I cannot see the need of so much ‘red tape,’ 
still, I presume they are often imposed upon, even noAv.” 

A large, distinguished-looking man, Avho had been 
Avatching them since they entered, came a little nearer. 
“ PshaA^^! I am alA^^ays meddling; very likely she is dis- 
appointed in her last new dress. She looks as if she Avere 
troubled about something more serious than that. They 
must be expecting someone.” These thoughts passed 
rapidly through his mind. 

“ Hoav much more time have Ave? ” 

“Eight minutes,” Madie ansAvered. 

“ Something must be done,” she said desperately. 

“ You must have another Avitness? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Madie stepped toAvard the elevator. “ That Avill not go 
up again to-night,” the stranger politely informed her. 

“ Oh, but Ave must go! ” said Madie tearfully. “ Annie 
is so sick.” 

“Who is Annie?” 

“ This lady’s little girl. She A\^ants to draAv her pension, 
and 1 am the only one Avith her ; the gentleman Avho Avas 
to meet us has not come.” 

Five minutes only were left. It seemed as if time 
leaped along as rapidly as it does in happier days. 

“Couldn’t you go Avith us, sir? This lady is Mrs. 
LaSelle; she is an officer’s AvidoAV^. Believe me, I Avould 
not say it if it Avere not true.” 

The man, listening to her Avords, thought, “ If it Avere 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


23B 


not so I would have told you.” He had been a politician 
for years, with trickery and deceit all about him, and many 
had heard him say: “ I have not a particle of faith in the 
world.” Yet, he showed a different element in his nature 
on this evening. 

“ My child, I believe you implicitly.” 

He touched the bell and the elevator came slowly up ; at 
the second floor it halted, 

“It’s no use in trying ; we can’t make it to-night ; the 
steam is exhausted.” 

“Let us out, then,” said the stranger. He hurried 
the ladies along the hall and up the stairs. The clerks 
bowed politely as they entered, and the man acknowledged 
the recognition. The signatures were given, and the oath 
taken. Madie glanced at the name below her own ; it was 
that of a distinguished member of congress. 

When they reached the outer door, Mrs. LaSelle thanked 
him many times. Madie turned to him: “I shall remem- 
ber your kindness as long as I live.” 

“ And I shall remember your trust, that revived my 
own faith in the world. I hope the little girl will be bet- 
ter soon.” Touching his hat to each, he hurried down 
the crowded street. 

Ever after this Madie read this man’s speeches with a 
new interest. When Annie heard of his kindness she 
said: “ I cannot see him to thank him; but I’ll ask God if 
he won’t help him in some way.” 

When more than a year afterward, a bill passed through 
Congress which was a benefit to many people, and this man’s 
name stood at the head, Madie thought “ Annie’s prayer 
is answered.” 

The private school was abandoned, and Mrs. LaSelle 
devoted those early spring days to her child. 

Madie had told so much of the little patient in her let- 
ters home, that never a letter came now that had not some 
pleasant anecdote or loving message to Annie from Mrs. 
Burton and the children; the entire letter was usually 
read to her. Madie recalled all the pleasant and amusing 


234 


jack’s afire, 


incidents of her daily life, for the benefit of the little girl, 
who was now so weak she could not go about the house. 

Mr. Burton carried her down to the carriage daily, 
took her for a short ride and carried her back again ; but 
one day they found she was too weak to ride even a short 
distance. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


235 


CHAPTEE XXVITI 

RESOLUTIONS AND REFORMATION. 

A reception was given to all the theological schools in 
and around the city. Madie attended with a student and 
his wife from the seminary near her uncle’s. This was the 
first reception given in a private house. The colleges had 
heretofore entertained in turn. 

“ If anyone doubts the cheerful influence of Christian- 
ity, he ought to be here to night, to see the different sects 
mingle together in this happy, friendly way. As a secta- 
rian, I would stand about one on the scale of a hundred,” 
a theological professor frankly confessed to Madie. 

“ That is as it should be, I think. I have no patience 
with anyone who is always saying ‘ our church.’ Wouldn’t 
it be better for all to say ‘ the church? ’ Every spire of 
every church points upward, and that is what its members 
ought to do; then we would all climb together.” 

Mr. McLean, standing near, examining that immense 
library, was surprised to find himself agreeing with her. 
Later he went to her. “ It is an agreeable surprise to see 
you here. When will you come to my school? I have 
missed you.” 

“ Have you ? I am sorry ; but I could not come. I spend 
all the time I possibly can with Annie LaSelle.” 

“I know,” he said approvingly. “Is she any better?” 

“No. I am afraid she never will be well again. If I 
spend Sunday morning with her, perhaps I can come to 
your class in the afternoon.” 

“ I shall look for you, then.” 

“What a magnificent collection of books! I enjoy a 
library more than anything else.” 

“ I think a great deal of my books and pictures and 
should like to have you see them. Will you come with 


236 jack’s afire, 

your aunt some day when you are at leisure ; that is if she 
will come? ” 

“I am sure she will.” 

“And you? ” 

“ Oh, I too, of course,” and she arose to join her friends 
who were coming toward her. 

When Miss Cragie heard of the proposed visit she 
was not at all pleased. “I think a partner in a love af- 
fair is a superfluous person, but I do not like to see my 
warm-hearted friend sacrificed in this way. I shall man- 
age to be invited there myself,” she soliloquized as she 
walked slowly up and down her room. 

The next Sabbath she went to the mission school. 
Madie did not arrive until the classes had taken their 
places. She hurriedly entered the Bible class. A few 
observant people noticed that there was a sudden lighting 
up of their pastor’s grave face as if a sunbeam had fallen 
across it, but Miss Cragie was the only one who connected 
it with the entrance of the quiet little lady beside her. 

The lesson was discussed, but Jean did not take any 
part in either question or explanation. 

Mr. McLean walked back with them as he had become 
accustomed to do. Madie, studying out the meaning of 
the lesson, spoke out the finale of her thoughts. “ You 
asked whether ‘ Christ died to save all mankind or for 
truth ? ’ and the class and yourself decided that ‘ He died 
to save mankind ; ’ now if he died to save all people, and 
those who believe in him are saved, or if he died for the 
truth and those who accept it are saved, it seems to me 
they are inseparable.” 

He tried to explain it to her. “ There are so many 
things that I cannot understand.” 

“I am very thankful that you cannot, Madie, and more 
thankful that you are aware of the fact. When we ex- 
plain God’s words, and thoughts, and plans, he ceases to 
be a God to us,” said Jean Cragie. 

“ Perhaps it is presumptuous. I visited the legislature 
of our state, with papa, the winter before we went West, 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


237 


and saw them dispose of bill after bill. I have thought 
of that disposing and expounding and ‘ laying on the table ’ 
of the law often since, when hearing God’s word and law 
reasoned out from the pulpit as if it were a matter of bus- 
iness to explain Him to a congregation. I am sorry to 
say it, but I have once or twice heard what sounded like 
an apology for Him. People whose motives I readily un- 
derstand, I am apt to take very little interest in. There 
is nothing to awaken or continue the interest. But we 
shall have all eternity to grow up to a knowledge of 
God. The alphabet is all we can possibly master here. 

Mr. McLean again tried to tear this girl’s image from 
his mind and heart. “I should not like a wife to argue 
with me, as she is doing now.” Miss Cragie understood 
something of his disapproval and was jubilant. 

“ I think we can go a great way beyond the alphabet 
here in this world,” he said. 

“I don’t know. It takes a long time to understand our 
most intimate friends,” Madie went on slowly. She was 
groping carefully along for expression to lead her 
thoughts into the light. “ There are some people who 
are easily read; others whom I may think I know, but 
am disappointed in them, often happily, and sometimes 
sadly. I have met a few people who were too even ; there 
seemed to be no unevenness in their characteristics, each 
one averaged so well with the others that I would go from 
alpha to omega and notice no particular one.” 

“ You mean that an average is a good thing, but a per- 
son who averages is apt to be monotonous,” said Jean, 
laughing. 

“ I confess to being baffled sometimes,” said Mr. 
McLean, taking up the original subject of the conversa- 
tion. 

“Then you are improving. You ought to be baffled ^ 
if you are not, you are more presuming with God than 
with people,” said Jean honestly. 

He had told Madie on the evening of the reception 
that he should like to know what afternoon she could be 
at liberty to visit his room. “ I think I can come Wednes- 


238 jack’s afire, 

day, Mr. McLean, if that day is satisfactory to you,” she 
now told him. 

“It is; I shall make my calls in the morning.” 

“I must take this car, as I promised Annie that I 
would be back as soon as I could.” 

He hailed the car and walked on with Miss Cragie. 
The keen-eyed Scotch girl knew that the conversation had 
displeased him, and with the ready sympathy of her sex 
tried to say bright and cheerful things. “ Miss Cragie, 
can you come on Wednesday with the others?” 

“ If I can find time, and it is at an hour when we will 
not be apt to be busy,” she said; while she thought, “you 
are trying to have a goodly company in order to keep her 
away from yourself.” 

When Wednesday came, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Burton and 
Jean went to see the wonderful library and collection of 
drawings and paintings in the room where the clergyman 
lived, but had no home. Madie could not leave Annie. 

Miss Cragie, with her finely cultivated taste, thoroughly 
appreciated the works of art, and the ancient and modern 
volumes. She felt pitiful toward this man as she noted 
the rest of the room utterly devoid of home comforts. 
“ I don’t know but it would be better if Madie were here 
to stay. If I were sure he loved her ! He might be a grand 
man, with human love and sympathy running through the 
iciness of his nature.” 

She talked so well, and so self-forgetfully in her new 
sympathy and understanding of the man, that he was 
interested and partially forgot the great disappointment at 
Madie’ s absence. It was for her alone that he had 
opened his rooms ; but he had resolved to cease his in- 
timacy with her. “I presume it is better to relinquish 
Miss Cragie’s friendship also ; they are together so much, 
I shall have to avoid both,” he thought, as he accom- 
panied Jean to her home. 

“ I am to have a Friday evening conversation club for a 
few of my friends. Will you join us? ’ 

“ I am afraid I cannot. I have little time to devote to 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


239 


society, and must withdraw from the companionship of my 
friends more and more. I am one of the world’s 
workers.” 

“So am I; but I like to rest sometimes alone, and 
sometimes with others who are workers themselves.” 

“You have my friendly wishes for the enjoyment of 
your ‘ rests ; ’ but I cannot stop my work, lest I should 
neglect my poor.” 

“You speak as if you were saying good by.” 

“ Perhaps I am, in a measure.” 

“ Are you not going to let me help you any more? ” 

“I shall hope to see you at my chapel; but I do not 
think I ought to ask you to devote much time in visiting 
our people. Mrs. Grenall will still be my supporter, and 
I shall devote more of my own time to the work. I have 
no right to ask another to help to make my burden light. 
Even in the matter of friends, I shall not be dependent.” 

“ A tall tree may stand in a forest while there is a forest 
of smaller trees around it; but when they are all taken 
away, it is twisted and bent and broken. So be careful.” 

“I understand. But I shall have many around me.” 

“Not those who will uphold you.” 

He did not reply until they had reached her door. 
“ Good by! I am glad you came to-day. I do not usually 
open my house save to those who need me. Yet I am not 
lonely ; my companions that you saw to-day are very in- 
teresting.” 

“Yes, but are none of them contradictory? ” 

He smiled slightly. “Not aggressively so; I have 
been pleasuring too much lately; it ceases now.” 

“ A book cannot answer back like a woman is what you 
mean, I presume. Well, good by,” she said lightly. 

“I wonder why he thought it necessary to give me up, 
too?” she queried, when the door had closed between 
them, and she was ascending the stair. “ I believe he 
was actually afraid that I would marry him myself, and I 
never dreamed of such an unfortunate arrangement for 
him.” The half pitying, half sarcastic smile had not left 
her lips when Mrs. Howe tapped at her door. 


240 


jack’s afihe, 


“ I want you — if you will — to give me a little advice in 
regard to a wedding present for Edie Lenox. I am anx- 
ious to purchase some suitable gift ; she is such a sweet 
little thing.” 

Mrs. Howe was well aware that Jean Cragie’s taste was 
almost faultless, and did not hesitate to ask this favor, al- 
though she disliked her greatly. She would ask and re- 
ceive favors of friend or enemy. 

“ Get something that will help to make her more of a 
woman. Pickle-castors are very nice, but she will have 
three or four of those; and a water set, and all other 
pieces of silver. I think a set of books would be nice ; 
something not too deep, but really sensible.” 

“ How would Miss Mulock’s works answer?” 

“ Nicely. She cannot read ‘ A Noble Life’ and not be 
a better woman for it. Stay, Mrs. Howe, do not hurry 
away. I wish we could be friends,” she said wistfully. 

Mrs. Howe was touched for a moment, and said: “I 
wish it too, and can see no reason for our not being.” 

“ Then we will be. I will try very hard to do my part. 
If I fail, will you kindly come and tell me ? I can tell you 
now that it will not be intentional.” Mrs. Howe had 
never seen Jean in tears before. 

“ My dear child, do not take it to heart; I am sure you 
will be more careful hereafter. I must really go now. 
Come and sit with me some day when you have time.” 
She had not acknowledged herself at fault, but she was 
glad that Jean had spoken. 

“ She is a bright, entertaining companion, and it is 
much pleasanter to be friendly with her,” was her comfort- 
ing conclusion. 

Jean was happier than she had been for weeks. “I am 
so glad that she came in this afternoon ; to be sure she 
threw the blame upon me, but that is her way. If it were 
not for her deception, I could like her real well. I wouldn’t 
mind her thrusts in my presence if I did not know that 
tliey Avere doubled in my absence. I will see if I can get 
along Avithout offending her.” 

Jean bravely adhered to her resolution. She and 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


241 


Mrs. Howe continued their amicable treaty for several 
weeks ; it was very hard for the elder woman to always 
speak well of even a friend. One morning Jean acci- 
dentally overheard her delivering some uncomplimentary 
comments upon herself. “ I wish I hadn’t heard it; I 
was actually beginning to believe in her.” She turned 
and went back to her room. “ I couldn’t face her now 
and be the least particle friendly.” 

The bride elect came in. “I want to show you my new 
silk, dear Miss Jean.” 

“It is very becoming; but what an immense trousseau 
you are purchasing.” 

“ I told mamma that I was determined to have the best 
of everything.” Mrs. Lenox was not at all wealthy, and 
had already spent more than her income on her pretty 
daughter. “I have been over to the house; it is just ele- 
gantly furnished, and the rooms are too sweet for any- 
thing.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Erie had just returned from Europe, and 
were furnishing a double stone front for themselves and 
their son. “We are perfectly satisfied with Charlie’s 
choice ; and we can all be near together. It will seem so 
nice to be at home again,” Mrs. Erie confided to Mrs. 
Lenox. 

Miss Cragie thought on, and Miss Lenox talked on. 

“ What has she been talking about?” Jean questioned 
herself, as they went down to dinner; “nothing of great 
importance, I should ^udge from her expression; conver- 
sation of moment will stamp itself on the face. Her talk 
doesn’t annoy me, for it does not interest me enough to 
cause me to lose the thread of my own busy thought.” 

Charlie Erie’s face brightened when Edie entered the 
room. “I am mistaken; he does love her,” Jean said in 
an undertone to Mr. Warren. 

“ Yes, I think he does, but I am afraid she will be un- 
happy. My nephew, I am sorry to say, takes a social 
glass occasionally.” 

Miss Cragie looked troubled. “Does she know?” 

“Her mother does; I thought she ought to know, and 
16 


242 


jack’s afire, 


told her myself ; she did not consider it in the light of a 
serious objection, as I hoped she would.” 

“ Here is another friend I must take in charge. I am 
just the sort of woman who will, when I reach the forties, 
comb my hair over my ears, wear glasses, give advice, re- 
ceive confidence, and be called aunt.” 

“ I think that you will have a very honorable if not en- 
joyable position,” said Mr. Warren, smiling. “I think 
you have a great deal of influence over Edie ; will you use 
it for the future welfare of her and Charlie? ” 

“ If I can. I shall certainly make an effort to save her 
from unhappiness.” 

She talked with Edie very tenderly. “I do not want 
to offend you, nor to interfere with your happiness. I 
want to help you and Mr. Erie both. He, like many so- 
ciety men, takes wine occasionally. It may grow worse 
as he grows older.” 

“ He will reform after we are married.” 

“Ask him to reform before.” 

“ I don’t dare.” 

“ Edith, would you like to live in a garret, as many of 
these drunkard’s wives do ? Some of them started out in 
their wedded life as happily as you expect to.” 

“ I do not want him to become a drunkard,” she sobbed, 
for Jean had spoken very gravely. 

“ Then go and tell him that you cannot become his wife 
unless he refuses to take even a social glass.” 

“He will be angry and will not promise.” 

“ If the habit is stronger than his love for you it is 
better for you to know it now.” 

“ Go with me, Jean.” 

“No, it will be easier for you both if you go alone.” 

Charlie was about to leave the house, when the sight 
of a girlish figure on the stairs arrested hiin. 

“ Did you want me, Edie? ” 

“Yes, I want to talk with you. Will you come to 
mamma’s room?” Mrs. Lenox discreetly withdrew as 
they entered. 

am ready to listen, Edie,” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


243 


“ Do you love me ever so much, Charlie? ” 

“ ‘ Ever so much ’ my darling ! But what is the matter? 
Do you doubt my love? ” 

“ Would you do something that might be hard for you 
to do if I asked it of you? ” 

“ I would if it could be done.” 

“Will you promise never to touch liquor again? It 
might break my heart some day, Charlie, for it might 
ruin you. If I were to do anything that would drag me 
down, you would feel badly, I know.” 

“ There is no danger of my being ruined by a glass 
now and then. I cannot pledge myself to total absti- 
nence; the fellows would all laugh at me and say I was 
ruled by you.” 

“ Charlie, are all the ‘fellows ’ more to you than I am? ” 

“Why of course you are first, Edie.” 

“ But the fear of their ridicule is stronger than the wish 
for my happiness.” 

“Oh, confound it, no! How foolishly you are talking, 
Edie; don’t think of it any more, that’s a good girl? ” 

“ No man ever said ‘confound it’ to me before. You 
had rather give me up than to give up liquor. Here is 
your ring, Charlie.” 

“ Very well. Miss Lenox. Woman’s love is a very power- 
ful thing.” 

“Man’s hatred of ridicule is more powerful.” Edie 
was feeling, for the first time, and thinking, and talking 
real things. The sad, earnest look was very becoming. 

“Why don’t you take your ring, Charlie?” 

“Because I don’t want it.” 

“You may want to give it to someone else, after a 
while,” she almost groaned, at the dreadful idea of some 
other girl wearing her ring. “ Charlie, take it quick, for 
I want to leave you. I don’t amount to so very much, I 
know, but it hurts me like everything to think you had 
rather have wine on your table three times a day than to 
have me at the head of it. You may take your ring and 
dissolve it in wine, like Mrs. Julius Caesar or some of 
those old Greeks or Eomans did,” getting terribly 


244 


jack’s afiee, 


mixed in her excitement and ignorance. “ I like choco- 
late drops and bon-bons and nice things to wear, but I 
wouldn’t have said that I would rather have them than 
you. If all the girls did laugh at me, I wouldn’t have 
cared a speck, if you had only loved me. I think it is 
awfully mean of you, Charlie Erie! so there now!” 

“Edie, let me put the ring on your finger again.” 

“No,” putting her hands behind her. “I can’t, nor 
I sha’n’t. I’ll urge mamma to go off somewhere, and I 
never will be introduced to another young gentleman. See 
if I am. Charlie, will I have to tell you again to go away ? 

Wondering at this new phase of her character, Mr. 
Erie left the room. 

Edie was afraid her mother would come in and find 
her in tears, so went to Miss Cragie’s room. Jean com- 
forted her and praised her for her bravery. “You are 
one of the brave little women after all.” Edie was at 
first inclined to be vexed with her strong-minded friend for 
being the cause of her estrangement from her lover, but 
the woman had been aroused and reason talked to her for 
the first time. Then, too, she was proud to be compli- 
mented by Miss Cragie. 

Charlie Erie did not immediately inform his family of 
the broken engagement. Every hint of the approaching 
nuptials made him wince. It seemed as if there had never 
been as much said as upon the night when they were 
seated around their own table for the first time. “ This 
is better than boarding,” said Mr. Erie. 

“ ‘Better,’ ” said his wife. “It is grand! Charlie, you 
must bring Edie over to-morrow, so that she can give us 
some idea as to how she wants her apartments arranged. 
Everything is selected and awaits her orders. She will 
enjoy coming, I am sure. She is so childishly enthusi- 
astic that it will be a pleasure to have her with us.” 

Charlie followed his father to the library. “We need 
not go any further with this affair; Miss Lenox gave me 
back my ring and freedom last night.” 

“Why, Charles; what reason did she give you for such 
conduct? ” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


245 


“ She tried to have me pledge myself never to touch 
wine again.” 

“She did?” The old man removed his glasses and 
wiped them, as if he needed a clearer vision for the full un- 
derstanding of the subject. “ Tell me what she said,” and 
he listened attentively while Charlie told him, as nearly 
as he could, the exact conversation. 

“Well! well! well! Charlie; I really admire her; she 
is right. If your appetite is larger than your heart, don’t 
offer such a kernel to any woman ; if your hatred of ridi- 
cule is stronger than your love of right, don’t speak to 
Miss Lenox again; if your fear of human judgment is 
greater than your faith in eternal justice, don’t think to 
be happy either in this world or the next.” 

“Father, I don’t believe I can give up either one.” 

“ John B. Gough says: ‘Everyman becomes a drunk- 
ard by trying to be a moderate drinker and failing.’ Be 
careful, my boy, or you may be right there. It seems 
that the little lady has herself decided that you can 
choose but one. Think about it seriously, Charlie. I do 
not know that an Erie ever broke his word ; if she gets 
your promise you are both safe. These little, doll-like 
women are sometimes very firm, especially if they have 
right on their side.” 

Charlie was only partially influenced by his father’s 
words, yet he was not quite so strong in his own conceit 
as he had been before this interview. 

Three days later Miss Lenox had a caller — Mr. Erie, 
Senior. As the Erles had removed from the house al- 
most immediately after the engagement was broken, the 
boarders had not mistrusted the true state of affairs. Edie 
had remained in her room, or with Miss Cragie. Mr. 
Erie came forward as soon as she entered the parlor. 
“Will you come home with me? Charlie is not well, and 
wishes to see you.” 

“Is he going to die?” she gasped. 

“No, child; do not be frightened; get your hat and I 
will tell you on the way.” 


246 


jack’s afire, 


“Here is my hat; I thought perhaps you had come for 
me. Let us hurry as fast as we can.” 

Mr. Erie smiled at her childish frankness and eager- 
ness. 

“He drank some champagne the night after his last in- 
terview with you, and rode down the boulevarde ; his horse 
threw him and it has bruised him up some ; in addition to 
the bruises I think his heart and conscience are both 
troubled. 

“ He is ready to give up wine, but there is one little 
woman who can do a great deal toward healing his heart 
and easing his conscience. Please be easy with my boy ; 
but for his sake and your own do not accept anything but 
an absolute promise.” Mr. Erie was sadly in earnest. 

He led Edie to the door and let her go in alone. The 
invalid reached out both hands to her and drew her down 
beside him. “Edie, I am ashamed; I promise you never 
to touch another drop ; it was ‘ awfully mean ’ of me — as 
you said — not to promise the other night.” 

Edie was enjoying a real happy cry. A cheerful spring 
rain outside, and another in that cosy room, with a rainbow 
of promise gilding each. 

Charlie’s Uncle Warren called to enquire about his 
nephew. “ You have improved wonderfully since yester- 
day.” 

“There is a reason for it, and I will tell you.” In spite 
of Edie’s remonstrance, he told the story. 

“It has always been my theory that one of the greatest 
helps to the temperance cause is simply love. Loveless 
marriages largely end in intemperance. Generation after 
generation of loving couples will do much to crush out 
intemperance in many directions.” 

Not many weeks after this, cards announced that Mr. 
and Mrs. Erie were “ at home.” 

The happy bride fluttered through the rooms like a ca- 
nary taking an airing. “ I never can say wise and witty 
things like Jean Cragie, but I shall try to amuse and in- 
terest you, Charlie.” 

“I am quite satisfied,” he said proudly. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


247 


She dressed elegantly and talked a vast amount of non- 
sense. Her husband admired the toilettes and enjoyed 
the nonsense. People called her a doll, and did not know 
that through this doll’s influence Charlie Erie was a sober 
man. Edie herself knew it and was satisfied with her 
mission. Jean Cragie was a frequent and welcome visitor 
at the sunny home, and each woman helped the other. 


248 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

“IN THE DAWNING OF THE MORNING.” 

“ Mamma.” 

“ What is it, darling? ” 

“ My feet hurt me so. Don’t you see they are swollen ? ” 

“ Yes, love. Shall mamma hold you for a little while ?” 

“You are so tired, now.” 

“ Let me hold you, Annie, and I will sing to you. I 
am not at all tired. Are you easier now?” Madie asked. 

“Yes. Will you please sing some of those pretty Scotch 
songs ? ” 

“I will sing anything you like.” She sang all the 
pieces that she had heard Annie express a liking for, 
while she rocked her carefully. 

“Now sing ‘My Ain Countree.’ ” 

The eyelids closed, then opened, suddenly ; “ Miss Madie, 
could you stay with us just a little while longer?” 

“Yes, dear, if I can go back to Uncle Joe’s long enough 
to write a note and send to Miss Cragie and the man- 
ager so that someone can take my place.” 

“ It will not be very long,” and Madie kneTv her words 
were true. 

“I can’t give her up.” Mrs. LaSelle, who had been 
under strong self-control so long, was weeping violently, 
now that all hope had left her. “If she did not suffer so 
I could bear it better.” 

Madie tried to comfort her, but words failed her. It 
was difficult for her to keep her own tears from falling. 
Annie had crept into her heart and was one of her dearest 
friends in that city. 

The hours dragged along; the feeble respiration grew 
fainter ; the cough, that had been so hard to hear and bear, 
had left her now. 

They were moving into the soft light of a new day, when 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


249 


Annie looked out upon the city. “ Mamma — lift — me — 
Hp — please.” Mrs. LaSelle lifted her carefully. “Mam- 
ma, I am going away, but you will come after awhile — 
Irene — Albert — be good to mamma and don’t forget 
Annie — Madie, I — love — you. I — shall — be — with — 
papa, mamma.” The sweet eyes rested on her mother’s 
face. The brown earth had rolled into the clear dawn. 
“Mamma!” 

“My darling!” 

“Listen!” The little hands were lifted eagerly. 
“ Papa — I am — coming.” And away in the full light of 
dawn she went; the dawn of a day that would last for- 
ever. 

“Dear Mrs. LaSelle try to rest, now. Remember, you 
have others to think of.” Madie led her away, and hushed 
the noisy sobbing of the children. 

Sleep laid a hand upon the mother and her little ones, 
and led them into the forgetfulness of dreamland. 

“ Let us, who loved her, get her ready,” said Mrs. 
Hale. 

“Thank you for not calling her it! If Miss Cragie 
can go with me, I shall go out into the country and get 
some bright, spring flowers. I am afraid she cannot leave, 
however.” 

“I will stay here to-day,” Mrs. Hale promised. 

Miss Cragie was not at home. “ Probably doing my 
work,” Madie thought, as she went down to the street. 

A man, walking slowly along, quickened his footsteps 
at sight of the familiar figure. A second thought arrested 
him, and he turned in an opposite direction ; but the desire to 
speak with her was stronger than his strong will, and he 
rapidly retraced his footsteps. His long strides enabled 
him to reach her very soon. 

“Miss Burton, what can you be in search of that you 
are in such haste ? ” 

“Mr. McLean, I was going after some spring flowers 
for Annie, she was so fond of them; she left us this morn- 
ing. I have just come from Miss Cragie’s room, but she 
was not there ; I think very likely she is doing work that 


250 


jack’s afire, 


I ought to be doing myself; as I wrote her last night I 
might not work to-day.” 

“And doing it gratefully, too, I have no doubt; as she 
well remembers the cheerful taking of her task a few weeks 
ago.” Another word of praise from this man, who was 
so chary of them, except to the poor and erring with 
whom he labored. 

“ Let me go with you.” 

“Oh, if you only would; but you are always so busy.” 

“I can spare a few hours this morning.” He hailed a 
carriage, and they drove out of the smoky, noisy city, into 
the pure country air. 

“ When did the little girl die?” 

“ At sunrise. I was afraid she would have to go out 
alone in the night, but it was broad day when she went.” 

The birds were singing in the thicket where they drove 
up and alighted. Violets, anemones, and crocuses were 
blooming in profusion ; Madie gathered all she could carry 
in her basket. “She loved them so, dear little Annie ! ” 
She sat down on the mossy bank and wept for the friend 
she had lost. “ When I am lonely and grieved I want 
mamma so much, and she seems farther away than ever 
at such times.” 

She had been doing extra work, and depriving herself of 
needful rest in order that she might be with Annie. Mr. 
McLean was moved with pity as he noticed the pallor of 
her face, and how thin she had grown since he last saw 
her. 

“I shall direct the driver to return by another route, 
and we can take in quite a good deal of this country road.” 

Madie looked up quickly: “ Do you know, I thought 
you were offended with me when I last saw you, but you 
couldn’t have been, really, or you would not have done 
this.” 

“No, I ‘couldn’t have been, really,’” smiling as he re- 
peated her words. 

“ I used to be afraid of you, but I never shall be again. 
I have always liked you,” she frankly added, lest the first 
of her remark might wound him. 


OR, THE BURTOK TORCH. 


251 


“Please to continue your liking,” lie said earnestly. 
“You are more to me than any other person, Miss Madeline ; 
remember that.” Madie looked away from this new ex- 
pression of eye and face ; but she was glad he had said 
these words. “He is so alone in the world, poor man, 
that my friendship seems a great thing to him,” she 
thought, with ready sympathy. 

They drove back to the city, each one busily thinking. 
“If I say anything I will say too much, and it would be 
both inopportune and selfish to say that which I wish to 
say, in the midst of all this sadness,” was the substance of 
the man’s meditations. 

Madie was still thinking of her little friend. “ I can’t 
realize it, now that I am away from her,” she said as they 
reached the city. “ As long as she was able to sit by the 
window, Annie watched me out of sight every morning, 
and I shall miss even that.” 

“ I believe that you have too much heart.” 

“ Can one have too much? ” 

“Yes, to be really cheerful and happy.” 

“Do not pity me; just think of poor Mrs. LaSelle! 
Annie was scarcely twelve years of age; but she has been 
a companion to her mother for a long time.” 

“Tell me about your home and home folks?” he said, 
hoping to draw her thoughts from this grief. 

Madie told him of her father, mother, brothers and 
sisters. 

“Thank you! I have become interested in the entire 
family. Your father’s name is Frank, is it not ? ” 

“How did you know?” Madie asked, greatly sur- 
prised. 

“ I think I remember of hearing Mr. Burton speak of 
him by that name.” 

“ What is mamma’s name? ” 

“ Bell. I learned her name through Mrs. Carter.” 

“You are more observant than I thought. Mamma’s 
name is Christabel, but my sister is named for her, so 
she is called by the last syllable, and my sister by the first 
two, to distinguish them. I think that is so much better 


252 


jack’s afire, 


than ‘big Christabel ’ and ‘ little Christabel.’ Mammals 
the only person whom papa or Aunt Sarah has ever called 
by an abbreviated name.” 

Mr. McLean dismissed the carriage when they arrived 
at Mr. Burton’s. 

“ Will you come in? ” 

“ Yes, for a few minutes,” he answered. 

Miss Cragie met her in the hall. “I am sorry, my 
dear; but you will have to go to-night; there is extra 
work.” 

‘‘I expected that I should. Have you been very busy, 
Jean?” 

“ Quite; but very glad of the opportunity to return a 
few of the many favors you have granted me.” 

“We will have dinner served immediately. You must 
both stay,” said Mrs. Burton, who was always hospitable. 

“ I must go over to Mrs. LaSelle’s,” Madie said, by way 
of excusing herself to her friends. 

Mrs. Hale greeted her with the news: “Mrs. LaSelle’s 
brother is here.” 

“I am so very glad for her sake. Here are some 
flowers for Annie. Will you put some of them around 
hlr and fill the vases ? I would attend to it, but I shall 
have to take up my work to-night.” 

“ Of course, I will willingly arrange them. It is too 
bad that you have to work when you are so weary. She 
— they I mean — will be thankful for the flowers. I don’t 
know as I needed to change the pronouns ; Annie may be 
aware of this herself.” 

“We do not know. I wanted to do something for her 
and for all of them. A friend kindly took me to the 
country.” 

Irene and Albert were talking in a subdued way. 
“Irene, do you know that song Miss Burton sang to us ? — 

* I shall love to be with Jesus, I shall love him more and more, 

And ril gather water lilies for the angel at the door.’ 

I wonder if Annie has seen Jesus?” 

“Isn’t he up there where she has gone ?” 

“Yes.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


253 


“Well, then, I guess she must have looked at him the 
first thing after she saw papa.” 

Madie smiled through her tears. “Her faith is oeauti- 
ful.” 

“Well, I declare!” fretted Mrs. Carter, when she re- 
turned. “I think it was very ill-mannered in you to go 
to the country, and not let us know it.” 

“Deliver your lecture solely to me, Mrs. Carter. I am 
responsible for this day’s journey.” 

“ Oh, very well, Mr. McLean. If you could spare the 
time I ought not to object. Madie should have told us 
of her intentions.” 

“I did tell Aunt Anna, but you were not here.” 

The manager spoke very kindly to Madie that night. 

“You look tired. Miss Burton.” 

“I have been with a sick friend.” 

“You will need to rest before long. I shall try to give 
you a brief furlough.” 

“I do not think I had better stop until late in the sum- 
mer.” 

“We shall see about that after a while. In the mean- 
time try not to get sick.” 

The next morning a fresh basketful of flowers was 
brought to Madie, with a note : 

“Dear Friend: 

I brought these fresh flowers from the country this 
morning, and send them to you for Annie. Will call in a 
few days. 

Bespectfully yours, D. M. McLean.” 

“How very kind of him,” she exclaimed, as she bent 
over the sweet blossoms. 

Annie’s pillow was strewn with the dainty wild flowers. 

In the bright spring afternoon they gathered around 
her, those whom she lt)ved and who had loved her ; while 
the choirs were practicing their chants and anthems; 
and the Easter lilies strewed tlie altars of the churches ; 
and “ Christ is risen” shown from the wails. When the 
mother and children had taken their last look, the minis- 


jack’s afike, 


254 

ter reverently and softly settled the lid back in its place. 
The bustling undertaker came in to attend cheerfully to 
his business, but the casket was closed. Madie was grate- 
ful to the pastor, who did this because he had known and 
loved Annie — as he loved all children — with a great, tender 
affection. They laid the little girl away in the beautiful 
cemetery and went back to the home that seemed so empty 
without her. 

Madie sat that night, with the others in conversation 
around her, and sent her thoughts away out toward the 
infinite. Our finite minds can only reach in that direction ; 
they cannot get in. 

“ Mr. McLean was there to-day, and he seemed quite 
sympathetic,” she heard her uncle saying. 

“ When the seeming becomes a reality, he will be quite 
a man. I like him better than I did,” said Miss Cragie. 

“Listen!” Mrs. Burton opened a window as she spoke. 
The band was serenading one of the grand women of the 
age, who was stopping at the Mayor’s residence. 

The sweet sounds floated away through the city, above 
the rattle and din. “Home, Sweet Home” throbbed 
through the sweet night air. The curtains were drawn 
back from many windows ; the light went out, and the 
music went in. 

“ My best guardian spirit hovers over me when I hear 
music like this,” said Mr. Burton. 

They played the old pieces that this woman so dearly 
loved. She had resigned home life and comforts, because 
she “felt the hand of God laid heavily upon her,” to go 
out into the world and help her brothers and sisters. 

“I wonder if the child angel, new to that other world, 
knows that sweet music is filling the air around her earthly 
home? Is she so filled with joy and rapture that she 
forgets earthly friends and joins the angelic choir, with- 
out a thought or memory of this lower world, or is it as if 
she had never been before?” 

“There Madie, lassie,” said Uncle Joe tenderly, “you 
are ‘ driven to the wall ’ and must stop within the limits 
of human ken.” 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


255 


“ In reply to the last clause, Madie ; it is my firm belief 
that heaven would not be heaven if we did not know of a 
worse place,” said Jean. 

Mrs. LaSelle’s unnatural calm was broken by the first 
strains of “The Sweet By and By.” and she shed the first 
tears she had shed since Annie died. 

Her brother took her and Albert and Irene back with 
him to his own home, and Madie was more lonely than 
ever. 

“ Visit Annie’s grave when you can, will you not?” was 
Mrs LaSelle’s last request. 

“Yes, whenever I can.” 

Thus these women, who had been so closely drawn to- 
gether, separated. 


256 


jack’s afiee, 


CHAPTEK XXX. 

REVELATIONS. 

Madie had not worn her chain and locket since receiv- 
ing her watch. One Saturday evening, when her work for 
the week was completed, and she was idling in her room, 
she thought of it, and, taking it from the little box that 
held her few jewels, fastened it around her neck. She 
touched the spring and looked curiously, as she had often 
done, at the two faces ; after the first glance, she seemed 
interested in only one portrait. 

“ There! I have found, after so long a time, the reason of 
the familiarity of Mr. McLean’s countenance ; he resem- 
bles this man; I wish he would come; I should like to let 
him see his ‘ double.’ ” 

As if in answer to her wish, her Aunt Anna called her 
below ; she went into the library as directed ; her face was 
flushed and her eyes filled with a new light. 

^Mr. McLean was waiting for her, and held out his hands 
as aagerly as Madie herself would have done. 

“Miss Burton, I have come to tell you that I love you. 
Will you be my wife?” 

Grandly and simply he stood before her and said those 
few words. 

“ I love you, Mr. McLean, but I cannot be your wife.” 

“ Will you tell me why? ” 

“I am the oldest of my father’s family, and I am de- 
termined to help my brothers, and, in fact, all my people, 
if they need it.” She told liiai of the game which she 
had adopted as her emblem of work. 

“ Let me help you.” 

“No; if the work must bo done, Christa and I must do 
it. I have saved something ; perhaps it will be all that 
they will need.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


257 


Mr. McLean was pleading so earnestly the first love of 
his life, that it was hard for her to say no. 

“ I am a middle-aged man, but I will wait patiently, if, 
at the last, yon can come to me willingly ; though I need 
you now and all the time.” 

“If my people are getting along comfortably, I will 
come, but I cannot lay too heavy a burden on Christa. I 
am going home next month, and then I will know what is 
best for me to do.” 

He took her in his arms and kissed her, reverently. 
“You will come back to me, I think. If I grow weary 
of waiting, can I come to you? I have written to your 
father and mother and have received an answer. They 
say they ‘ have no worldly wish for you save for your own 
happiness.’ ” 

“ Did they write that? It sounds just like them. If 
I can I will write for you to come.” 

“Good night.” He noticed the locket at her throat. 

“Where did you get that. Miss Madeline?” 

“A rebel prisoner gave it me years ago. One of the 
faces inside is his, the other resembles you.” She opened 
the locket and handed it to him, and was amazed to see 
him take its counterpart from his own pocket. 

“My brother and myself, and here is a lock of our 
mother’s hair behind his picture.” 

“How strange it all is. I have wondered whom you 
resembled ever since I first saw you. I made the dis- 
covery to-night, just before you came, and was wishing 
for you to come that I might show you the portrait, but I 
never dreamed that you were the original. I did not 
remember your brother’s name. He left a letter for me, 
but it was not completed. He died a few days after I last 
saw him. I went back to wish him Merry Christmas, and 
the kindness touched him.” 

“We were not of the same name. He was the son of 
my mother’s second husband. So you were kind to Max, 
but whom have you known and not been kind to ? Take 
the locket, Madie, for my sake as well as his. We have 
been waiting for each other for years ! ” These words were 

17 


258 jack’s afire, 

said in a tone that no one would have recognized as the 
city missionary’s. 

“Wait a little longer,” said Madie. 

Holding her little hands tightly he answered: “I will, 
and try to be patient. Even to know you love me, makes 
me happier than I ever thought to be on earth.” 

John Crowan and his wife were driving to Clayton, with 
their democrat wagon loaded with butter, eggs and spring 
chickens. “I want to give a couple of the best chickens 
to Mrs. Burton. We’ll stop a little while and hear about 
Madie. I haven’t written to her as I ought to have done. 
I can get time for most everything else but to write letters ; 
they ai’e awful easy things to let slip along. We count it 
awful impolite not to answer a question that either a friend 
or enemy asks, but let the best friend we’ve got go off some- 
where and write a letter asking a lot of questions, and ten 
to one he never hears from the most of us. ‘ Speak when 
you’re spoken to’ don’t hold a bit good in letter- writing. 
But there ain’t deaf and dumb enough about me to like to 
substitute my hands for my tongue.” 

“You know just how to handle your tongue, Lizy.” 

“There, John, don’t go to praising me up!” 

“We might give a pair of chickens to one of the 
editors.” 

“ No we mightn’t, John. When I give, I give right out. 
I don’t go to trading for a puff in a paper.” 

They drove to Mr. Burton’s first. “Come in! Mamma 
wants you,” called Christa. 

Mrs. Crowan sprang from the wagon, pushing back the 
hair pins as she walked up to the house. 

“ Is your ma sick ? ” 

“No,” said Christa, laughing. 

Someone sprang from the parlor and caught her in a 
quick embrace. 

“For the land sakes, Madie! When did you come?” 

“Yesterday. Took them all by surprise.” 

“ How peeked you do look. Clear tired out, ain’t you ? ” 

“I was tired; but I am rested already. My employer 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


259 


urged me to come, and when I go back I shall go right 
into the editorial rooms. My work will be there, and it 
will be much easier.’’ 

“She has been visiting the poor, and taking care of the 
sick, and working, and singing for everyone that has 
asked her, until she is worn down completely.” 

“ Christa is bound to give me credit for all I do. T 
wanted to prove that a woman could do public work 
and attend to home duties ; so I have read and helped my 
aunts and uncle, and done a few other things.” 

“ I was so interested in you, Madie, that I really forgot 
what I come for. Mrs. Burton, I brought you in some 
spring chickens. I’ll have John kill ’em. I know how 
opposed you are to doing such work, by my own feelings. 
It does seem that everything raised on a farm is just to 
fat and kill.” 

“We are all very thankful for your thoughtful kindness. 
From a child I have had my heart wrung, by the slaughter 
of animals on a farm. It is one death after another, and 
they lead such a happy life, roaming over the prairie. 
Frank hates to kill even a chicken. I have often heard him 
say that he could go into the farm-yard and the poultry 
would gather all about him ; but if he went with the in- 
tention of catching one to kill, they seemed to know his 
intentions, and would keep out of his way.” 

“ I told John that I wished we were rich enough, and 
had a farm big enough, to let them live out their natural 
days.” 

Mrs. Crowan spent the day with her friends. Madie de- 
scribed the principal places of interest that she had seen ; 
told of the notables she had heard, and said, as she fin- 
ished: “Everyone helped me to grow a little. I some- 
times wondered whether I wrote the articles, or whether 
it was not the conversation of others shining through 
them. The best I could do for you, or for the readers of 
those papers, was to give you the chaff, instead of the rich 
grain from their fields of thought.” 

Mr. Crowan was delighted to see Madie. “Lizy, don’t 
it seem good to see her around home?” 


260 jack’s afike, 

“I should think it did! You must be sure and come 
and see us.” 

“Never fear but that you will see Leon and I many 
times during my month’s vacation.” 

“What makes you keep looking around the house, Ma- 
die?” Christa enquired, when they were again alone. 

“Because I haven’t done being glad to see every room 
and every bit of furniture here.” Josie followed closely 
after her “ own Madie,” and praised her continually. 
They were getting along nicely, financially. Christa 
was busy with her sketching during the summer vacation. 

Madie discussed the future with her parents and sister. 
“ I want to know the opinion of each one of you. You 
have read his letter; it is like himself, honest and 
earnest.” 

Christa could not bear the idea of “ losing Madie en- 
tirely,” as she said. “I don’t believe he is half good 
enough for you. I thought we were always going to live 
together.” 

“ So we will, dear, if you all think it best.” 

“ I don’t want you to stay with us if you would be any 
happier with him, but I know I shall not like him. I 
never thought you would leave us,” reproachfully. 

“Christabel, do not be selfish; Madeline has already 
done much for the family. We ought to be able to take 
care of ourselves and let her work for herself in the 
future. His letter was a manly avowal, and if Madeline 
wishes to go to a home of her own, it is not for us to ob- 
ject,” said Mr. Burton. 

“Now, mamma,” said Madie, “what, have you to say?” 
She was sitting in a low chair beside Mrs. Burton. 

“If my darling loves him and he returns the love, if 
each will do better work because of the other, I shall not 
say no, although, like Christa, I hate to give you up.” 
She laid her hand softly on the brown hair, where the sun- 
light was sleeping. 

“If you need me, mamma, I will stay, for I resolved 
years ago to do that.” 

“I shall not ask you to continue your resolution.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


261 


“He is a grand man. I promised to write for him, if 
he were to come.” 

Christa was not at all pleased with this announcement, 
but made no further objection. 

The next morning Madie sent a brief note : 

“Dear Friend: 

I have talked with my parents and Christa, and I guess 
you had better come. Madie Burton.” 

Mr. McLean smiled when he read the few words that 
sounded so much like a telegram. 

He hurriedly made arrangements to leave his flock for 
a season, and in a few days alighted from the train at 
Clayton. He was met by Mr. Burton, who was favorably 
impressed. From the flrst the two men were drawn to- 
gether. 

“Madie is in here,” said her father, opening the 
parlor door and standing back for Mr. McLean to enter 
alone. 

When Madie heard him coming her first impulse had 
been to run away and hide. “Madie, I have come.” All 
her old fear of him came back again. 

“Madeline, are you sorry that I have come to you? ” 

She went toward him then. “No; -I wished you to 
come or I should not have written.” 

“You will be my wife?” he asked, bending down and 
whispering low to the girl whose head just reached his 
shoulder. 

“ Yes ” 

“Madeline, look up!” 

The sweet eyes looked at him trustingly. He bowed 
his head. “Let us thank God!” The tender est, most 
loving prayer he had ever made sealed their betrothal. 

“Do you think you will be satisfied with me always?” 
she asked humbly. 

“I think I shall,” he answered, with a proud smile. 

“And you with me?” he asked. 

“I know I shall,” with a sudden uplifting of her head; 
a motion peculiar to herself, and which had once called 


262 jack’s afire, 

from Beniie the remark: “Madie makes gestures with her 
chin?” 

The birds outside sang their love notes and the pansies 
in the garden were “shaking with quiet laughter.” “I 
want you to see mamma,” said Madie, a half hour later. 
She left the room and soon returned with Mrs. Burton. 

“Mamma, this is Mr. McLean.” 

“If Madeline continues to resemble her mother, I shall 
never regret this morning,” he - thought, as, with perfect 
ease and frankness, she welcomed him to their home. He 
remembered a sentence he had read a few days before. 
“Politeness is to do and say the kindest things in the 
kindest manner.” “ If this definition is correct ; this woman 
is one of the most truly polite persons I have ever met.” 

Christabel, round-faced and cheery, with a certain 
dignity that was as natural as her smile, shook hands 
with him and took her place at the table. Bert and Benjie 
looked a little uncomfortable. “Isn’t a bit like Ned, 
Phil and Ealph. I don’t believe he would play with us 
half as quick as'Eobert Peyton, and he is real pokey!” 
Benjie’s musings were evidently not complimentary to the 
stranger. 

When Josie awoke from her nap, she wanted Madie to 
come to her as usual, but Madie was entertaining her 
guest. “I want her my own self. Who is that man that 
keeps her away from me?” She trudged into the room 
where they were all sitting. 

“Come here, little girl,” said Mr. McLean. She shook 
her curls over her face. “Come, I should like to make 
your acquaintance.” One step sidewise, and another shake 
of the curls. “What is your name?” adopting the 
almost universal preamble to a conversation with a child ; 
as the weather topic is with grown people. 

“Josie Burton; I’m Madie’s sister.” 

“ Do you like Madie? ” 

“ I love my Madie,” nodding her head emphatically, 
and looking a trifle disgustedly at him for putting the 
question. 

“ I think we will agree there, so come to me.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


263 


“I’m tired and can’t walk so far.” 

“Well, I will come more than half way.” He picked 
her np and sat her on his knee. 

“ Walph and Ned laughs and tells nice stories to me. I 
love Walph, and mamma loves Walph, and so does my 
Madie.” Mr. McLean felt a very unclerical feeling in his 
heart for “ Walph.” “ Walph writes lots of pwetty things 
to me.” 

Josie could talk as plainly as anyone, but Christa, 
Bert and Benjie liked to hear the baby pronunciation, 
and adopted her manner of speech. “We want to keep 
her a baby as long as we can,” said Christa. 

Mr. McLean was not interested in Josie’ s conversation, 
so she slipped down and went to Madie. “I didn’t idea 
that he’d be such poor company! Tell me about those 
children, Madie.” So Madie told her the story. “And 
‘he had a great big top;’ tell it all, Madie.” When 
anyone told a story to Josie, that was not apt to be the 
end of it; it had to be repeated many times, and after 
the first narration she would not allow one sentence to 
be omitted, doing the prompting herself. 

Mr. McLean had not for years been an inmate of a 
real home. “How affectionate they all are. I think that 
they sometimes lay too great stress on little things,” he 
mused. 

Madie and Christabel planned together and consulted 
with their parents as usual. 

Both Mrs. Burton and Madie wished to have the wed- 
ding postponed for a year, and Mr. McLean had yielded 
to their wishes. “You must go to the art school next- 
year, Christa. I will put a stout girl in the kitchen to 
help mamma,” said Madie decidedly. 

Christa’s eyes shone at the prospect of having her 
dreams realized. “I shall not be gone but six months 
this time,” the older sister continued; “then I shall come 

back home and stay until” She stopped, and no one 

was able or willing to complete the sentence for her. 

They all said: “When — after — efore — until,” but they 
could not mention, even among themselves, the event that 


26 {-- 


jack’s afire, 


was to “ take Madie away from them for always,” as 
Christa said. 

Bert and Benjie took their sister into all their boyish 
plans and confidences. Serene and happy in her home 
life, Madie danced and sang about the house, only becom- 
ing sober when she was in her lover’s company. 

Aggie and Bobert Peyton were frequent visitors. 
Christa silently compared the two men, placing Robert 
in the higher place. Mr. McLean did not approve of Ag- 
gie’s gay spirits, and Aggie was not at all impressed with 
his superiority. 

The one who least approved the engagement was Mrs. 
Crowan. “Madie. going to marry that man ? Dear! dear! 
he is about as companionable as a refrigerator. He’ll just 
take all the youthful spirits away from her. It’s a down- 
right pity that they ever met. He was born good, I sup- 
pose, but I like to see such a man lift himself a little bit 
out of the grooves. In goodness as in everything else, 
we are apt to appreciate what we have to work for. I 
have to pull myself up notch by notch, and when I get to 
a level place where I can travel along real fast, I enjoy it 
all the better. Everyone ought to be obliged to exert 
every muscle mentally, morally, and physically, so this 
climbing is real nice once in a while. I’d rather be 
good on the hill-top than in the valley ; you get a better, 
broader view of God and His world when you are up 
there.” 

Christa agreed with Mrs. Crowan, but she did not ex- 
press herself to anyone. The fear of hurting Madie’ s 
feelings was stronger than her repugnance to Mr. McLean’s 
society. Sometimes, when listening to his descriptions 
of places he had seen, or conversation on topics interesting 
to all, she was obliged to acknowledge that he was a won- 
derful man. “He really loves my little sister; though, 
for that matter, I do not see how anyone could help loving 
her; and she is satisfied with him.” But the concluding 
thought of Christa and her mother was always this: “ I 
hope they will be happy.” 

Uncle Joe fumed and fretted when he heard the news; 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


265 


Aunt Anna said nothing ; Aunt Sarah was perfectly satis- 
fied with Madie for the first time in her life. 

Mrs. Grenall and Harry Lee made Sada a visit. The 
happy wife, proud of her home and husband, was pleased 
to exhibit both to her relatives. They talked of Madie’ s 
prospects. 

“ If she is only as happy as 1 am, she is not to be pit- 
ied at all,” said Sada. 

“ He is much older than she, and I am afraid he is not 
the one she ought to marry,” said her aunt. 

“I am sure Ealph will feel badly. He has worked 
for her so long.” Ned’s voice was not quite as clear as 
usual when he said these words. 

Ealph had received a letter from Madie, stating that 
she was going to spend several weeks at home. “ I shall 
see her then, and tell her the story — so old to the world — 
yet so new to us.” With a light heart he went about his 
duties. 

Commencement was over at last, and he began mak- 
ing preparations for his trip. “ She will look at me 
with those great, trusting eyes, and she must answer yes ; 
I cannot walk into the Future without her by my side. ” 
His pleasant meditations were interrupted by the entrance 
of Harry Lee. 

“Ned told me where to find you, so I came over. I 
didn’t want to wait until morning.” 

“I am glad you didn’t, Harry. How were all the folks 
that I know, when you left them? ” 

Important in the knowledge that he had some news to 
tell, Harry told all he knew of their mutual friends. 
“ Madie Burton is called one of the best reporters in the 
city. Folks praised her lots, but she used to run in and 
play with me, and talk about Bert and Benjie, and wasn’t 
a bit proud. Mrs. Lawrence said she ought to marry 
well, but I guess she isn’t going to so very. She’s going 
to marry a minister. I don’t know what breed he is; he s 
awful tall and sober.” 

Ealph was about to light the study lamp, but threw the 


266 


jack’s afihe, 


match back into the box, “ Who told you that Madie 
was going to marry this man? ” 

“ She wrote to Miss Cragie and Sada. I know ’cause I 
heard them tell it, but I forgot, Ned said for you to come 
over to-night.” 

“Tell him that he will have to excuse me. I have some 
work to finish.” 

Harry went away, but the work was not done for some 
time. If one has worked for years with a purpose in 
view, and, when it is near achievement, finds that he has 
spent all these years in dreaming dreams that can never be 
realized, he is apt to turn from the future as if he could 
not meet it. So Ealph, feeling the disappointing, failure- 
clogged Past behind him, and judging from it what the 
Future might be, stood in the Present, irresolute. 

“ It was a castle in Spain, but its fall has caused a 
heart bruise. I don’t see how it can be, Madie! You 
have had a home in my heart so long that it is hard to 
turn you away; I never have felt alone in the world 
since I knew you, but it is so solitary now.” He paced 
back and forth through the room. 

Ned came in ; “ Why don’t you come down to the house, 
Ealph?” 

“I can’t leave to-night, Ned! I have concluded to go 
with my teachers to the Pacific Coast. We start Monday, 
so I must go to packing and ‘ setting my house in order’ 
immediately. I think the change will be good for me.” 
He struggled to speak in an off-hand manner, but Ned 
both felt and heard the pain in his voice. 

In the old boyish way he threw his arm across his 
friend’s shoulder. 

“Maybe it will be better for you to go. I am not 
pleased with the news myself.” 

Nothing further was said. Ealph was grateful to Ned 
for this half expressed sympathy, and more grateful for 
the silence that followed. He spent the remainder of the 
summer in California. Among the many letters of con- 
gratulation that Madie received, the one that she felt 
most deeply was the note sent from the Golden State: 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


.267 


“Dear Little Friend: 

I have heard of your prosperous work, and am proud 
that you have been so long a friend of mine. I predicted 
years ago that you would become one of the successful 
workers. 

I have heard, too, that you are happy in the love of a 
good, true man. You have my good wishes for always. 

I am rambling amid the wonders of our outermost 
West, and presume I shall not hear from you until I get 
back to my work. I did not want you to miss my con- 
gratulations from among your other friends, so have writ- 
ten to-night. God bless you, Madie! Ralph.” 

“It is such a sad letter, mamma.” 

“ Yes, Christa ; but do not speak of it to Madie. I think 
Ralph is disappointed at present.” 

Mr. McLean did not like this letter at all. He read in 
the spacing between the lines some of the pain and loss 
that the writer had tried to disguise, and saw more than a 
brotherly feeling there. 

“Why do you correspond with him, Madeline?” 

“ Because I have written to him ever since I was a lit- 
tle girl. And we enjoy hearing from each other.” 

He did not consider this a satisfactory reason. 

“ To whom are you writing? ” he enquired a few hours 
later. 

“ To Sada and Ned, and a note to Ralph, thanking him 
for his good wishes. I cannot send it to him, as I do not 
know where to address him ; but will put it in their letter, 
and he will get it as soon as he returns. I thought per- 
haps Ned might know where to forward it to him.” 

“ Madeline, I do not think it right for a promised wife 
to continue a correspondence ^th other gentlemen.” 

“ But it is different with Ralph — ” she began. 

“ He is a young man and you are a young woman. 
You can do as you like, of course ; but I do not sanction it.” 

Madie felt his disap'p^oval for the remainder of the after- 
noon. At dusk she joined him on the piazza. 

“Dear!” slipping her hand in his, “I will do as you 
wish, and shall not write to Ralph again.” 


268 


jack’s afiee, 


“But you may regret this promise.” 

“I have you, Mr. McLean, and I ought to be satisfied.” 

He half appreciated her sacrifice; so he was this frac- 
tional part better than the most of those who boast of 
their masterful dispositions. 

On the following Monday Mr. McLean returned to his 
work, and Madie spent the remainder of her vacation alone 
with her own family. Aggie and Eobert came more often, 
now that the dignified guest was gone. 

“ Mamma,” said Madie, as she folded the last dress and 
laid it in Christa’s trunk, for they were going to start to- 
gether. “ If anything should happen to any of you at 
home, send for me. Eemember, I only give up a posi- 
tion, and Christa will have to relinquish a plan.” 

“I shall send for my eldest daughter if I need her.” 
It was very hard for Mrs. Burton to let both her daugh- 
ters go so far from home, but she kept back her tears until 
she was alone. 

The sisters stopped, as Madie had done the year before, 
at the beautiful capital city, and as before, Phil was there 
to meet them. Aunt Prue, with the smile that never 
grows old, took both girls to her heart. While Uncle 
Ben and Carrie made the sisters’ joyous anticipation of 
this visit a blessed reality. 

“I am going to have you tiail your garments through 
the halls of the Past,” said Phil. “We will visit ‘every 
loved spot that our infancy knew.’ ” 

So another trip was made to the old farm. “I shall 
come back and sketch some of these familiar nooks when 
I am competent to do it well. The day has been so filled 
with memories that I have lived two days in one — a day of 
reality and a day of dreaming. Papa and mamma must 
come back next year. We must manage somehow.” 

At this last sentence Phil tossed his hat and cried: 
“Hurrah, Christa! that familiar sentence makes me a 
child again. I have been feeling so old, and so young, and 
so nohow lately, but now I am a boy.” 

“I think you are always that,” said Carrie. 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


269 


Madie was very glad to learn that Phil was going to 
the city with her, and would stop for a time at their 
uncle’s. He was going in partnership with an older phy- 
sician. “ It will be grand to have you near,” she said, 
and Phil was almost as jubilant as herself. 

They were all glad to see her back again. The editor 
was quite fatherly in his kindly greeting. Miss Cragie 
was enthusiastic in her reception. She visited them and 
examined Christa’s work. “You are a genius! So many 
people paint, but there are very few artists. You have 
excelled my teaching already,” she said frankly. 

Phil was immediately interested in Miss Cragie, and 
they soon became fast friends. 

Mrs. Carter was constantly giving Madie advice in re- 
gard to the new position she was soon to occupy. Her 
niece had gained new interest in her eyes. 


270 


jack’s afike. 


OHAPTEE XXXI. 
tkagedy: on the stage and off. 

Mr. McLean called on Madie immediately. “ I am 
more glad than I can tell yon, Madeline, to know that you 
are again in the city.” 

“Are yon? Yonr words make me quite content to be 
here. I really feel as if I were well acquainted with you 
to-day. There have been times when I would think for a 
little while that I knew you, but the next time we met, it 
would seem as if we were almost strangers.” 

“ I hope you will never have that feeling again.” 

“ I do not believe that I shall.” 

Phil, in another room, was saying: “ I wonder if I 
will be presented to-night ? Madie ought to be consider- 
ate enough to call me in. I confess to a really feminine 
curiosity in regard to him.” 

“I do not think that quality is confined to either sex. 
If you men had as little to occupy your time and atten- 
tion as most women have, you would be more curious and 
disagreeable than they are,” said Christa, always ready to 
uphold her own sex. Phil did not reply, as Madie came 
for himself and Christa. 

It was not a real comfortable party. After Christa had 
spoken to her brother-in-law elect, and Phil had been in- 
troduced, an awkward silence fell upon the group. Mr. 
McLean was not a man to put everyone at ease in his 
company. 

“Dear me,” thought Phil, “what sort of weather have 
we been having lately? I VI discuss that question, but if I 
should be wrong, he, in his comfortable rightness^ would 
be so surprised. I’ve always ridiculed people who pre- 
faced all their remarks with ‘ a lovely day, isn’t it ? ’ but I 
wish we had one such here, now. Weather is something 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


271 


we always have, so I shall notice and talk about it here- 
after.” 

“ You are going to reside in the city, Miss Burton tells 
me,” Mr. McLean finally said to Phil. 

“ Yes, for a time at least; if I am successful I shall re- 
inaiiir. here.” 

“ And you are going to continue your art study in Bos- 
ton, Miss Christa? If you enjoy paintings, perhaps you 
would be interested in some of those in my possession. I 
invited Madeline down last year, but she could not come. 
I think I will repeat the invitation, and extend it to all.” 

“We will accept, I am sure,” said Madie, who was re- 
lieved to have the stillness broken. 

“We will, of course,” said Christa. 

“I think we can mansj^ge.” Mr. McLean smiled as he 
recognized Christa’s pet phrase, spoken soberly by Phil. 

When the interview was ended, Phil looked at Christa 
with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Was he ever a 
baby ? ” 

“Yes, and a very good one,” said Christa, who was 
loyal to Madie; but the dimples would show in spite of her 
determined effort. “ He gave Bert and Benjie lessons in 
science while he was with us. He told them of light and 
sound, and the velocity of each ; and they were quite in- 
terested ; then he said : ‘ It takes eight minutes for light 

to travel from the sun to the earth, and years for it to 
reach us from some of the fixed stars.’ Benjie took it all 
quietly, but Bert said: ‘Stop a minute, you make my 
head ache; I wish you hadn’t told me; the stars will seem 
so far away now, and I like to have them seem near at 
night when I am looking at them.’ Mr. McLean stopped 
talking of stars, and told them of sound waves. Bert told 
me afterward that he would rather read novels than to 
study about such improbable things as that.” 

Phil laughed heartily. “ The sciences, even us who 
profess to understand them, are stranger than any fic- 
tion.” 

“Yes; because we have not the preface and finis, we 
can only reajd the intermediate chapters, the ‘ is now ’ in 


272 


jack’s afire, 


this world; ‘ as it was in the beginning,’ and the ‘ever 
shall be,’ belongs to the ‘ world without end,’ ” said Ma- 
die, who had come into the room as Phil was speaking 

“ Tell that to your brothers sometime when they are old 
enough to understand,” said Phil. 

Madie cheerfully took up the round of visits that she 
had given up for Annie’s sake. Christa went with her 
when she made her first calls. “ Eight glad to see you 
back again,” was the substance of the welcoming address 
of each. “And is this your sister? You ain’t alike in 
looks, that’s sure,” was what usually followed. 

The landlord was at one house when they entered. On 
seeing the neatly dressed girls, he removed his hat. 
“ Mrs. McCarthy is a real lady, and I have no more re- 
spect for that man because he took off his hat when we 
entered, and kept it on while talking to her,” said Ma- 
die. 

Together with Miss Cragie, Phil, and Mr. McLean, 
they visited Annie’s grave, and laid upon it their offering 
of fall flowers. They visited Mr. McLean, and Christa 
was delighted with the rare works of art. 

It was at the mission school that she first became 
interested with her prospective relative. To see him 
among his people, and notice the grave earnestness of 
purpose with which he worked, and the simple straight- 
forwardness of speech when he addressed them, was 
amply sufficient to change her opinion of him. “ He is 
far beyond me. I have known this all the time, but here 
he does not make me feel that he feels the difference, as 
he did last summer.” 

When they returned to Mr. Burton’s, she went to 
speak to him in the library. “I have something to say 
to Mr. McLean, Madie. I will tell you what it is after- 
ward; but I would like to be alone with him when I 
say it.” 

“ Then go down now, before I and the others join 
you.” 

“I have changed my mind in regard to him, and want 
to tell him of it.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


273 


“ I mistrusted as much,” said Madie. “ But you must 
hurry or Aunt Sarah will be there.” 

“ Mr. McLean, I came to tell you that I have mis- 
judged you, and did not like you at all at first; I tried 
to for Madie’ s sake, but now, that I know you do your 
work through faith, and not as a profession, I shall like 
you for yourself.” 

He was at first disposed to reject the proffered hand, 
but the innate truth of his nature helped him to under- 
stand the frankness of hers ; and he and Christa were in 
friendly conversation when Madie came down. “ I must 
go to work to-morrow, and Christa will be left to her- 
self,” she said, as he was leaving. 

“I will try and make the remainder of her stay as 
pleasant as possible.” 

“I know you will,” said Madie; “and I shall not feel 
that she is lonely.” 

Mrs. Lawrence again opened her house. Mr. McLean 
went, as he considered it in the light of a duty to Madie 
and her relatives. 

Madie danced once with Phil. “Mr. McLean does not 
believe in dancing, so I shall refuse all invitations here- 
after. You may take me to Aunt Anna.” 

Phil’s thoughts of the clergyman were not of the most 
flattering sort. 

“Two very superior girls,” said Mr. Warren when he 
had renewed his former acquaintance with Madie, and 
had enjoyed a half hour’s talk with Christa. 

“I just love them both,” exclaimed Edie Erie, to whom 
the remark was made. “Don’t you, Mrs. Howe?” 

“I love everyone,” was the smiling answer. 

“I hardly think you do,” said Jean Cragie. 

“Why not, my dear?” 

“Because that is all God, with his mighty heart, is 
able to do.” 

Mrs. Howe had no answer ready, and J oan did not wait 
for one, as Phil came to take her to the supper-room. 

Christa was eager to begin, her work. “I wish you. 
were going with me, Madie, ’ 


274 


jack’s afire, 


“I wish I were; but as you well know, palette and 
brush are useless articles in my hands. Write often.” 

“I will.” 

Christa’s instructors praised the sketches she exhib- 
ited, and were surprised at her unflagging zeal. She was 
doing congenial work, and in consequence was doing it well. 
I believe that half the people whom we call indolent would 
not deserve the name if they had begun in a line of work 
suited to their taste and talent. Failures are made every 
day by taking up work that we are not fitted for. Some 
find their niche easily, and others play “puss wants a 
corner” during all their allotted years. “Pull-a-way” is 
a grand play in the game of life, if the attendant circum- 
stances are just right; but it cannot be played well upon 
a side hill, when the “catcher” is neither willing nor 
fleet, and the “sides” do not understand the game well 
enough to “go” when he calls. 

Madie was working earnestly and faithfully. “I want 
to prove to Mr. McLean that I can help him in many ways.” 

, “I hope you will not attend parties often, ’ he had said 
to her the next time they met, after the evening at Mrs. 
Lawrence’s. 

“I shall not, unless they are at my uncle’s or cousin’s, 
or Mrs. Grenall’s,” she answered almost sadly. A woman 
dislikes being treated as a naughty child, though she be 
ever so childish! 

“I am not a child, and he shall not treat me like one,” 
she said to herself. 

The editor watched her, as she sat at her desk, and 
said to his assistant: “She writes nicely and easily. I 
hope we can keep her.” 

“I am afraid we cannot. She works like one with a 
purpose.” 

The senior journalist went to Madie, who was working 
with so much resolution. “ Miss Burton, you will soon 
understand all the 4 ns and outs’ of journalism.” 

“Do you think so?” pleased with the remark from the 
111211 who stood so high in that profession. Then another 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


275 


thought came: “It seems too bad for me to lay down 
my Torch when it is just beginning to burn brightly ; it 
has only been smouldering for years ; but I can use my one 
talent to help him and his people ; and if he is content, I 
shall be satisfied.” 

Phil was already hard at work; his partner was soon 
assured of his skill, and so were the people who employed 
him. Madie was delighted to hear the words of praise 
which he received. Miss Cragie listened and smiled as 
if she, too, were interested. 

One evening the three were together, talking of the 
old days and friends, and especially of Aggie Peyton. 
Jean was recalling some of her witty sayings, and Phil 
was intently listening. 

“ Did she like McLean? ” he asked. 

“Not at all, I am afraid,” said Madie, looking annoyed. 

“That was a very tactless question,” he said in a low 
voice, “ and I beg your pardon.” 

“ There is no need,” she answered. 

Jean continued her pleasant reminiscences. Phil 
laughed as one of Aggie’s odd fancies was repeated. 
“ She used to be a regular little tornado when fairly 
aroused.” 

“ She is very nice,” said Madie. “ I will not hear my 
friends spoken of lightly, even in jest. Aggie would do 
anything for me.” 

“ I admire you for that. People speak harshly to me, 
and I often do not reply at all, but let them say one word 
in disparagement of a friend of mine and I wax eloquent 
in her defense.” 

Phil smiled at the speaker. “ You and Aggie are alike.” 

“Yes, I fancy I can see the similarity myself.” 

“Aggie writes such cute letters. I always feel re- 
freshed after reading one of them.” 

“ I think I shall send a message in the next letter you 
send to her.” Phil did not quite like the perfect uncon- 
cern with which Miss Cragie listened to his remark. 

“Aggie always laughs at sentiment and says, ‘she does 
not believe it possible for her to love anyone, tragically 


276 


.tack’s afire, 


and heroinically,'^ ” said Madie, laughing at the recollec- 
tion of her friend’s words. 

“She will make a cheerful, pleasant companion for 
someone,” said Jean. 

“ Is she domestic in her tastes?” 

“Yes, Phil, but her conversation will be as nice as her 
cake, and her love for the beautiful will exhibit itself in 
both parlor and kitchen.” 

“ She is a good deal like a rag carpet; kind o’ full of 
streaks.” 

“A rag carpet is a very sensible article in an every-day 
room. Of course for one that was to be shut up you 
might get a finer article.” 

Phil felt that there was something underlying Miss 
Cragie’s words, and put back a little home picture that his 
fancy had been sketching since he came to that city. 

Madie tried in many ways to help Mr. McLean in 
his mission work, and received many words of commenda- 
tion from him in return. 

“ He does appreciate her after all, and I shall not fear 
for her, as I have done. I felt almost as if she were dead 
or going to die very soon, when I heard of the engage- 
ment,” said Miss Cragie, when the Christmas festivities 
were over. 

“ I do not feel quite reconciled yet,” said Mr. Burton, 
to whom the remark had been made. 

Mr. McLean was going to Boston to meet a friend, who 
was coming from Bonnie Scotland to visit the American 
coast cities. He went to Madie, when he had fully de- 
termined to go. 

“ I am anxious to see my friend with whom I spent 
so much of my boyhood, and I wish to visit some of the 
people who are doing the same work in those seaboard 
cities that I am doing here. I shall be gone several 
weeks.” 

“You will go and see Christa, Mr. McLean, and tell 
me how she looks and what she is doing.” 

“ I will, gladly.” Turning to her, with a sudden impulse, 
he said: “ Madeline, I wish you to call me Douglas,” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


277 


She seldom made any attempt at returning his caresses, 
but to-night she passed her hand lightly over his dark 
hair, where the years had already begun to tell their story. 
“Douglas, I am glad I can call you by a name that 
you do not hear from any but your own. Please come 
back as soon as you can. I shall miss you every hour, 
Douglas.” 

“ I will as soon as I can, my little helper. You will go 
to the chapel and write me of our work.” 

“Yes, Douglas, ‘thy people shall be my people.’ ” 

It struck him with a pathetic sound, tliis frequent repe- 
tition of his Christian name, when he had but just given 
her permission to call him by it. “I did not know that 
my name would sound so sweetly from your lips, or I 
would have made this request before. I have missed that 
much pleasure all these months.” With a sweet, linger- 
ing “good by” he turned away. Before he had reached 
the door, Madie called: “Douglas, comeback! One of us 
will die, or something will happen. I know it, Douglas.” 

He laughed at her fears, and tried to comfort her. 

“ I do not want to remember you in tears” 

She raised her head suddenly. “Go quickly, then, 
Douglas!” 

So he left the house. This man who was destined to 
miss so much of love and happiness in this world. Madie 
received more loving, tender letters than he had ever 
written her, and was quite happy. 

It was a very hard winter upon the poor. Mrs. Grenall 
was out with her carriage or sleigh daily. “ Why not 
get up a benefit; amateur theatricals would take splen- 
didly,” suggested one and another. 

“The very thing, but who can we get to take the lead- 
ing roles ? ” 

“You are intimate with Mrs. Lawrence’s cousin. She 
is a beautiful reader and singer, and the varied expression 
of her face will completely captivate the audience. She 
has won her way into some of our best families, and is so 
well connected, besides.” 


278 


jack’s afire, 


Mrs. Grenall made known her wishes to Madie, imme- 
diately. “We are so in need of the money, dear. I 
know you will not refuse.” 

Madie hesitated. She knew Douglas was opposed to 
the stage. “ Can’t you find some other one?” 

“I am afraid not.” 

“ This is different; I know all the people who will take 
part, and it is to help those whom he almost left in my 
charge. It will only be carrying on his work. I do not 
believe he will seriously object to these theatricals. I 
will write and ask him,” she thought rapidly, while Mrs. 
Grenall was waiting for her answer. “ Could you wait a 
few days before I decide?” 

“ I suppose we shall have to, if you cannot decide before. 
But we need the money now. It will take some time after 
you begin before we can put it upon the stage.” 

“Very well, I will do what I can; but you must ask my 
cousin Phil to take the leading gentleman’s role.” 

Phil positively refused at first, but when urged by both 
Miss Cragie and Madie, he consented to tako the part as- 
signed him. The rehearsals were pushed rapidly. Madie 
wrote of what she was doing, but Mr. McLean had left 
Boston and the letter never reached him. 

The elite of the city were out to see the amateurs in 
this grand benefit. “ Miss Cragie’ s acting,” they said, 
“was superb,” and “Little Mrs. Erie was childishly sweet,” 
but the superlatives that Madie received were like pres- 
ents at a fashionable wedding — “too numerous to mention.” 
She had lost her own identity in the part she was taking, 
and was a real woman with pain and sorrow and outraged 
feeling surging up from her heart. She was called be- 
fore the curtain after each act, and came out without a 
particle of affectation or conscious pride, and quietly bowed 
her thanks for the appreciation. 

Several letters asking for a repetition of the perform- 
ance were sent behind the curtain. “We will let it run 
for three nights, if our ‘company’ is willing,” said Mrs. 
Grenall. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


279 


The “ company ” agreed to the proposition, and the 
play continued to draw a crowded house, each night being 
an improvement on the one before. 

“You are improving, Madie, and I thought, tlie first 
night, there was no room for improvement,” said Phil. 

“Why shouldn’t I improve? I am getting better 
acquainted with myself, iny part, and my audience, and 
bringing them all nearer together.” 

The play was nearly finished on that last night. Madie 
was pleading with Phil, her lover, to believe in her. She 
turned away, and among the sea of faces saw only one 
stern and troubled. “I knew it would come. Oh, Douglas! ” 
she sobbed, when the curtain dropped. 

“ More than a thousand dollars,” said Mrs. Grenall, 
coming behind the curtain. 

“ That will help a great deal,” said Madie. 

“Miss Burton, you are sick!” 

“No, only tired.” 

Phil wrapped her cloak around her and took her to the 
carriage. “You are completely exhausted. When will you 
learn to take care of yourself as well as other people?” 

“Don’t scold. I can’t bear it to-night.” 

“No; it would be wrong for a man of my profession 
to scold a patient into a fever,” he said lightly. 

The next day in the office and the next evening at 
home, Madie looked for Mr. McLean. “I was not mis- 
taken. He is in the city. That was his face I saw.” 

Before going home she went to see Mrs. McCarthy. In 
the far corner of the roQm, bending over the crippled boy, 
she saw the man who had been all in all to her for more 
than a year. Mrs. McCarthy was profuse in her thanks 
for the basket of delicacies. 

“Shure and ye’re afther knowing the pracher?” 

“Yes,” said Madie, greatly embarrassed. 

“Misther McLean, do yez moind Miss Burton?” 

“I remember Miss Burton,” bowing coldly. 

“I think we’ll all remember her the longest day we’re 
livin’,” laughed the happy-tempered Irish woman. 

Madie left, heavy-hearted and confused; Mr. McLean 


280 


jack’s afire, 


following. “ I see you are back. I hope you have found 
that your people have been cared for.” 

“Yes, and I am grateful. But the theatrical perform- 
ance met with my entire disapproval.” 

“Why did you not write, then ? ” 

“Because I had no knowledge of the enterprise until I 
returned.” 

“ I wrote you when it was first spoken of. Will you 
come in for a moment?” 

“Yes.” He followed her to the library where he had 
first told her that he loved her, and where he had said 
good by only six weeks before. 

“ The poor people were needy and they could not wait. 
I wrote, but received no answer. I promised to do what 
I could when you went away. I cannot see that I did very 
wrong.” 

“I should not like to have it said of my wife that she 
danced and was an actress.” 

“I am not an actress. If I were, and had a talent in 
that direction, I should have self-respect enough to know 
that it would not contaminate me. But you need not 
have such things said about your wife. I shall give you 
back your freedom. I have explained it to you, Douglas ; 
if you do not believe me you cannot love me. There 
might be times in the future when I should need both 
love and trust from you, and recalling this time I should 
have no faith to ask for them. The most terrible word to 
wreathe itself through the life of any couple is the word 
mistake. It is well that we have learned this, before it is 
too late. Here is your ring, Douglas. The locket I shall 
keep, because your brother gave it to me.” 

“Madeline, I shall not refuse forgiveness if you ask 
it.” 

“ ‘ Forgiveness!’ I should be untrue to myself, if I were 
to ask it. If to dance and to act are sins, as you think, if 
I have done wrong, and you have always done right, you 
should have been charitable. If God is with you and 
against me, I should be sadly in the minority without 
your bitter judgment. God bless you always, Douglas ! 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


281 


I would willingly ask your pardon, if I were convicted by 
my own conscience.” 

“ You should ask forgiveness of her! ” 

The unseen prompter startled him, but the strict preju- 
dices of years were not to be easily overthrown. 

“Good by, Madeline; I hope you, too, may be blest!” 

Phil and Miss Cragie wondered at the estrangement, but 
asked no questions. The sweet, proud face told no tales. 

Hurrying homeward one night, past houses where heav- 
ily-curtained windows shut in the warmth and light from 
the passers-by, she came to a charitable home that sent a 
generous track of light into the street; she walked more 
slowly; a woman was holding a child in her arms and 
singing : 

“ It may be for years, and it may be forever.'* 

Madie went on, busily thinking ; the words had come, as if in 
answer to her thoughts. “ I have taken up my work again. 
I shall carry my Torch, ‘ It may be for years ’ ” 

Phil met her. “ I thought perhaps you would walk, as 
it is so pleasant to-night.” 

“ I am glad you came to meet me; I am tired of my own 
company.” She did not see the pitying look that Phil 
gave her. 

Madie ran up to her own room ; while Phil managed to 
say to each member of the family: “ Do not tell her un- 
til after dinner.” 

“How quiet we are to-night! Let us go to the piano and 
sing something, Phil.”. 

Phil looked at his uncle ; the kind-hearted man dreaded 
the task before him. “ Madie, I have heard from your 
father to-day.” 

“A letter from papa? Aren’t you going to let me see 
it?” 

“Why don’t you tell her at once? She can bear it just 
as well as we can. Frank is very sick, and your mother 
has sent a telegram; so you’ll have to get ready in a 
hurry.” 

Phil caught her in his arms. “ Darling, don’t feel so 


282 


jack’s afire, 


badly ; people — doctors even — are often mistaken ; lie may 
be better when you get there. Would you like to have 
me go for Mr. McLean? ” 

Madie shook her head. “No, he doesn’t love me any 
more.” 

“The idiot,” growled Phil, under his breath. 

“I’d like to see Jean.” 

“I will go for her.” 

She packed hurriedly, yet everything was thought of, 
and messages left for each friend, rich and poor. 

Miss Cragie came and stayed with them until Madie left 
them. “ You will be so tired, dear, when you get there. 
Let me do what you have to do.” 

“No, Jean, I want to be busy. Aunt Anna and Uncle 
Joe have both offered their assistance, but I couldn’t ac- 
cept.” 

Mrs. Carter was busily packing her own belongings. “I 
shall go with her,” she said with determination. 

“Madie might as well be alone, for all the sympathy 
she will get,” said Phil. 

“ I shall see to both,” said Mr. Burton. 

“Uncle Joe, I’m proud of you. Your company will be 
such a comfort to Madie and all of them.” 

Madie drew her cousin’s head down, that she might 
whisper to him: “Phil, be kind to Douglas and help 
him all you can, for my sake.” 

Phil promised, and, although it sometimes “went 
against the grain,” — as he said — when he thought of 
Madie, he kept it faithfully. 

“I cannot bear to have the train stop at all; [the miles 
are counted off so slowly,” said Madie. 

“ I know, Madie,” her uncle said, with ready sympathy. 

“ Nothing is ever gained by fretting,” said Mrs. Carter. 

Madie made no reply, but leaned her head upon her 
hand and thought drearily of the past and future. 

They found Mr. Burton in the same condition that he 
had been when the message was sent. “Typhoid pneumo- 
nia, and a very bad case,” was the physician’s answer to 
Mrs. Carter’s question. 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


283 


It was several days before he realized that his brother, 
sister and Madie were with him. After the fever turned, 
and his brother had gone back to his home, it was to his 
eldest daughter that he looked for entertainment. 

“Doesn’t it seem to you that he is a long time getting 
well?” Mrs. Burton enquired of Mrs. Carter. 

“I don’t know very much about the disease, but he 
doesn’t gain strength very fast. I wonder if the doctor 
knows what he is about?” 

“He is considered a very excellent physician.” 

This illness had drawn largely from the small income. 
“It is time for me to begin to carry out my plans for the 
general welfare of my people,” Madie decided. She had 
been busy with pencil and paper for some time. “I 
have reckoned carefully. I believe we can do this, and I 
believe, too, that we can do it successfully. ‘It may be 
for years,’ but I do not believe that my life will be* a fail- 
ure ‘forever.’ When Christa comes we will talk with 
papa and mamma.” 


284 


jack's afire, 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 

“THE HEADLIGHT.” 

When Christa came home in the spring, her father 
was only able to walk about the house. “Something 
must be done by us girls.” 

Madie had told the story of her broken engagement to 
her mother, and now repeated it to her sister. “You did 
what was right,” said Christa; and the subject was not 
mentioned again. 

“Papa is worried about finances, I know. Wouldn’t 
it be better to talk with him now?” 

“I think the sooner the better,” Christa answered. 

So Madie went to her father, as she had gone on her 
sixteenth birthday. “Papa, what is troubling you?” 

“I ought not to tell you; for then you will be worried 
also.” 

“But I wish it, papa. It will make me happier than 
anything else on earth to be able to do for you and 
mamma. Are you worrying about money matters?” 

“Yes; I do not know what we shall do if I do not get 
well before summer comes.” 

“Papa, will you listen to my plan?” 

“Willingly, my daughter.” 

“The farm has not paid us very well since it was 
rented; you cannot attend to it yourself; let Christa and I 
invest in some business that would enable us to support 
the family. It would pay better than teaching or sewing, 
and that is all either of us can do, here at home; and 
Christa could go on with her drawing and painting.” 

“What is the business?” Mr. Burton asked. He was 
amused with what he considered a girl’s idle words. 

“Mr. Allen will sell his newspaper, and if we can sell 
the farm, we can buy it. The editor told me that I under- 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


285 


stood editorial work, and with your good judgment, 
and mamma’s and Christa’s help, we are bound to succeed! 
Why can’t it be ‘ Burton & Daughters ’ as well as ‘ Burton 
& Sons’? Bert and Benjie can help with the composit- 
or’s work, after school and during vacation.” 

“You have thought it all out, I see, and I am half in- 
clined to believe you are right. We will have very little 
ready money, unless I do sell the farm.” 

“I want to buy the job press, too; that will take nearly 
all the funds, but we shall be able to take care of all, I am 
almost certain.” 

When Mrs. Carter was apprised of the plan, she 
scouted at the idea. “It would be nice, if you could suc- 
ceed, but of course you cannot; who ever heard of two 
girls, the oldest not twenty -two, running a newspaper?” 

Her opposition only strengthened her brother in his 
determination to let his daughters go on with the enter- 
prise ; so the farm was sold and the paper bought. Nearl} 
all the formei help were retained, and after the first were 
respectful to their girl employers. It was not always 
smooth and easy work, but they did not expect it, and 
were brave and resolute. 

“ If you lose every cent you have, you can come on the 
city, and disgrace the family. You can’t have any of my 
money to sink,” said Mrs. Carter. 

“We don’t want it,” Christa returned quickly. Both 
of their uncles wrote and proffered help. 

“We do not need it, we are working on borrowed capi- 
tal now. If we should ever be in need, we will accept 
your aid gratefully,” Madie wrote in reply. “ I do not 
mean that time shall ever come,” she said firmly, as she 
folded the letters. 

She solicited subscriptions and advertisements for her 
paper. “ I will not cringe and beg help because I am a 
woman; an advertisement is just as good in my paper as 
in any other.” 

“Head your editorial column ‘Burton and Buidon.’ It is 
your paper and not mine,” said her father. 

It was a pleasant sanctum to enter ; the youthful faces 


286 


jack’s afire, 


were so earnest, and the smiles were so pleasant and 
friendly, that many who went to censure, gave praise. 

Many of the exchanges overlooked their paper entirely. 
People “wished them success, but did not know as they 
cared to take the paper; several papers and periodicals 
were already subscribed for, and times were hard.” This 
to them. Afterward: “Those Burton girls are very ego- 
tistical if they think they can take up Allen’s paper right 
where he left off, and make a success of it.” 

The other Clayton newspapers treated their readers to 
brief witticisms about the girl editors. 

“Never mind,” said Madie. “The Headlight can 
flourish without caustic wit at the expense of our contem- 
poraries.” 

While Aggie, who was in the office, said: “ Be tender 
of them. Perhaps if we girls had had no better chance 
than those men have, we would know no more than they 
do.” 

“I want my paper to be a helper to its readers, and I 
am going to employ just as many of my owii sex as I can.” 

The young editors sat up late at night, and studied, and 
talked with their father upon tariff and finance, and other 
important questions. “ Can you fill your paper every 
week?” Christa enquired. 

“ We shall fill our paper every week. We will not 
have a patent sheet. If we cannot find sufficient matter 
to fill a paper of this size, we will take a smaller sheet.” 

“ I pledge you my heart and hand and what little brains 
I possess,” said Christa merrily. 

Mrs. Crowan came promptly forward. “ I am going to 
take your paper, and so will every neighbor that I have 
any influence over.” 

Mr. Burton prepared a series of historical sketches, 
Avhich Avere interesting to the Headlight readers, and also 
helped him to while aAvay the hours he was obliged to 
spend indoors. 

One day a man came into the office. “ Be you girls run- 
ning this paper?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Madie. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


287 


“And do you think you can do this work as good as a 
man ? ” 

“Not so well as some men, and better than others. 
Yes, I think we can do the work as well as a man.’ ’ 

“ Well, I want it understood that I ain’t a going to read 
no articles on politics that’s written by a woman. You 
don’t know nothing about it, and you hain’t no business 
to; you can take my name off your list; I’ve got a few 
neighbors that’s going to do the same.” Turning on 
his heel, this “ citizen of the United States ” marched 
oft*. 

Madie dropped her head upon her hands. Christa, who 
was designing some pretty Easter cards, looked at her 
sister fondly. She laid down her brush, went close to 
Madie and peered over the desk, and under, and away back 
in the pigeon holes. “I thought I smelled fire, but it 
has gone out. Poor little Torch ! ” 

Madie smiled, and, turning to her desk, wrote a pleasant 
article for girls, full of suggestions for those of them who 
were standing alone in the world. When she had it com- 
pleted she read it to Christa. 

“Good!” was her laconic compliment. 

“ Jack’s Afire,” cried Madie as she carried her copy 
down stairs. Bert came in with a letter from Phil. Madie 
read it aloud; he commended his cousins for their en- 
ergy and “grit.” 

“ I used to think that a literary course was my destiny. 
For a time most of my mail consisted of bulky letters, a 
part of the contents of which I had seen before ; accom- 
panying these, the brief sentence, ‘ Not suited to our 
columns,’ or better still, ‘Declined with thanks,’ or ‘Ke- 
spectfully declined,’ but the best of all was when not a 
word accompanied the familiar sheets. I have read that 
the ‘Postal system never paid for itself,’ but I verily be- 
lieve, if I had continued my literary pui’suits a few 
years longer, that it would have made rapid strides to- 
ward a firm financial basis.” 

Then followed a message to each, and one for his 
“old schoolmate Aggie,” 


288 


jack’s afike, 


“He is the only real happy person that I ever knew, in 
whom I could take any interest,” said Aggie, when she 
read the letter. She sent a bright message back. 

Phil recalled the rag carpet comparison of a few 
months before, when the letter reached him. 

“There is a good deal of fancy stripe in her make-up,” 
he said, and thought of her all day while making his 
rounds. 

Miss Cragie occasionally mentioned the mission school, 
and sometimes in a casual way, that Mr. McLean was still 
doing good work in the city, but she did not tell how worn 
and ill he was looking. He was beginning to realize that 
the woman he had so severely censured was necessary to 
his happiness, but he continued his work with dogged per- 
severance. “ She will be happier as it is,” was the thought 
with which he tried to comfort himself. 

While Madie, in her western home, held her Beacon 
bravely. 

“lam only a bill of expense, and no help to any of 
you.” Madie laid her hand quickly ovet her father’s 
mouth, and covered his face with kisses. 

“ Papa, do you know that life would be terrible without 
you? You will soon be well and strong, and able to 
take charge of our paper. You said that this ‘ helpless- 
ness was next to death ;’ I know something worse than 
death, papa — to wake up and find that someone you loved 
and trusted doubted you, or had proven false.” 

“I understand, Madie, and I honor you for the work 
you are doing. He is a just man, and will see his error 
sometime.” Mr. Burton had never called his dausfhters 
by their pet, home names until this sickness. 

Mrs. Carter still looked with disfavor upon this journal- 
istic work. “See how tired Madie is; the boys ought to 
be taken out of school and put to work. The girls are out 
of their sphere entirely!” 

“ The boys shall not be taken out of school ; they can df) 
better work after they are educated, and their lives will 
not be filled with I'egrets.” Madie was in earnest, and 
spoke with emphasis. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


281 ) 


“It is very lonely for me here; you don’t seem to 
think what I am giving up for your sakes.” 

Madie had already gone to the office, so Mrs. Burton 
spoke for her: “ Sarah, if you are not happy with us, do 
not stay.” 

“ Oh, of course, if I’m not wanted. I’ll go right off ! ” 

“You are determined not to understand me,” Mrs. Bur- 
ton said sadly. 

Whenever a failure came, Madie would say: “ Please 
not to mention it to Aunt Sarah.” 

One morning, in the spring, she noticed the tops of 
some willow trees that had been cut off in order to make 
the tree branch lower down, and brought in by a subscriber 
to pay for his paper. The branching limbs caused them 
to lay up lightly and look like a huge pile of wood ; other 
trees were putting forth bud, and leaf, and blossom; so 
these broken limbs sprouted and grew. “ I wonder if I 
am like that pile of wood — dead to all effort and do not 
know it ? ” 

Her mother heard her. “ Under the right circum- 
stances they will grow.” 

“Yes, and I suppose I will, too.” 

When Mrs. Crowan saw the wood pile with its green 
branches, and Mrs. Burton had told her of Madie’ s words, 
she said: “ Everything has to be pruned and trimmed ; folks 
need a limb of discontent or a knob of temper lopped off 
once in a while. I hate to see ’em take the whole top 
clear off from a willow, and make them artificial looking. 
Let ’em grow straight just as they want to! Now Madie 
has gone through the pruning process ; but that aunt of 
hers wants to take the top clear off and spoil all the nat- 
ural woman there is in her.” 

Madie felt to-day as if her load were almost as heavy 
as the burden laid upon Atlas ; but she did not for a mo- 
ment think of laying it down. Christa, too, Avas sober. 
Kobert Peyton had come to her with the one question. 

“ I cannot leave Madie. Do not ask me, Robert; but I 
cannot do without your friendship.” 

19 


290 


jack’s afiee, 


“ That you shall always have, Christa.” 

So he came and went as usual. And no one but they 
two knew of her sacrifice. 

Mattie and Alice Crowan were attending school in Clay- 
ton. Mrs CroAvan always called on her friends when she 
came to the village. Madie was glad to find her there 
when she went home to dinner. 

“ How is the work getting along? ” 

“ Well-ly and illy,” Christa answered. 

“ Then you are doing as well as anyone? ” 

“ It is hard for one person to write a letter that will be 
interesting for everyone to read. Some of our sub- 
scribers want us to devote more of our paper to politics. 
Some want two Sunday columns instead of one. Some 
want us to be neutral on everything. And they pay us in 
butter, cheese, chickens, potatoes and salt pork. Some- 
times our cellar looks like a provision store; and again 
there doesn’t seem to be anything in it. People choose 
their own time to pay us.” , 

“ Well, Madie, you’ll find most everybody in this world 
likes to do just what he’d ruther.” 

“ My funnygraphs are about as hard as anything. I 
usually write them and tell them as stories here at home. 
If no one laughs, I set them doAvn as unseaworthy for the 
Ocean of Mirth; if they are moderately amused, I use 
them to coast along the shore, that is if I need them to fill 
up my column; but if they evoke hearty laughter, I launch 
them for the full voyage. I will not have vulgar fun.” 

“I suppose it is hard to make people laugli through a 
whole column ; but when it is done, you have done a more 
benevolent thing than you Avould to make ’em cry.” 

Mrs. CroAvan Avas right. Many of the readers turned 
eagerly to that sharp column filled with refined wit, such 
as only a woman can write. 

“ Christa, you must take the obituaries and wedding 
notices; the former make me sad for the whole week, and 
the latter I can’t quite handle,” Madie had said when they 
began their work, and C hist a readily consented. 

They printed wedding cards, election tickets, auction 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


291 


notices, blanks and show bills. If one wanted a dainty 
card or programme, he went to the assistant editor of the 
Headlight. 

“ Let us go to Miss Burton ; she will get up something 
neat, and tasty, and cheap for our commencement pro- 
gramme,” said one of the High School committee. 

“And they are both so obliging,” said another. 


292 


jack’s afikk, 


CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

SHORTS, MIDDLINGS AND SOME BOLTED FLOUR. 

Commencement drew near. “ I shall use my descrip- 
tive powers more on the girls’ essays than their dresses, 
and that will help them to be more careful of mind than 
matter.” Madie looked up to see someone entering the 
sanctum. She stepped down from the stool, but Christa 
was before her. 

“ Ealph, what a grand surprise this is! ” 

He turned to speak to Madie, “You have changed 
more than I expected.” 

“We ought to expect it from all our friends as the 
years go by,” she said, as they shook hands. 

He looked in vain for the impulsive girl of three years 
before. The childish, innocent face was there, but a 
woman looked out at him through those brown “ windows 
of the soul.” 

“ I was going East and thought I would make you a 
flying visit.” He had not heard of the broken engage- 
ment. “ She does not look happy; I hope she is not go- 
ing to make a mistake. I do not want her happiness 
wrecked, too,” he thought, as he watched Madie at her 
desk. He had received no word from her for more than a 
year, and readily guessed that Mr. McLean objected to the 
correspondence. 

Madie was glad to have him with her again, but she 
was not confidential with anyone, save her mother and 
Christa, in regard to her broken engagement. 

“I am going to write up the school to-day ; will you go 
with me, Ealph ? ” 

For answer he took his hat and walked with her. 
“ Students are the same the world over ; studious, indolent, 
careless, thoughtful; and a few will be impertinent if 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


293 


they dare,” he said, when they were in the sunny class- 
room. 

They visited the Latin class. “ My mind has gone back 
to our old jolly, care-free class. The same room, with 
Prof. Pearce working as hard as ever, but with the excep- 
tion of his, I do not see a single, old-time face. That so 
many changes can be made in so short a time is a mystery ! ” 

“Move on, and the vacuum is soon filled; in fact there 
never is a vacuum, the ranks are always full.” 

“ They are reading Csesar, and are stumbling on the 
same sentences that we found difficulty in translating.” 
Ealph was busily thinking, so Madie ceased her comments 
and took her tablets. 

The man beside her had gone back to his Alma Mater. 
He saw the lake beyond the hills, and the old stone build- 
ings where he had spent his student life ; then to his work 
in the mountain city. Through it all he had carried 
the image of this girl beside him, yet she was farther 
from him in reality to-day, than she had been in his dreams 
in those days that had gone by. 

He looked at the little hand moving rapidly over the 
tablet. “ Does this reverend gentleman appreciate her as 
I would have done? But such thoughts are dishonorable; 
I will not think them.” 

One day — that stood out in his memory of this visit like 
a monument with a great joy engraved upon it — he and 
Madie drove Leon out to the farm. The country was 
lovely, putting on a fresh brightness before the coarser 
growth of midsummer came upon it. They called at Mr. 
Crowan’s. 

“ You look as if you had been resting to-day, Madie.” 

“I have been; we had such a lovely ride out here.” 

“ Each breeze brought a fancy,” said Ealph. 

“Many winged their way through my brain; but 
not one stopped long enough for me to catch it; so they 
were only ghosts of fancies.” 

“ That’s just about the way my fancies all are; they just 
come for a minute and go again; I enjoy ’em like every- 


294 


jack’s afire, 


tiling, but I can’t fix ’em up for anybody else to enjoy 
like you can, Madie. I only get an idea of the ground plan ; 
I can’t build the thought from it.” 

“ Mrs. Crowan, I wish you’d write for our paper.” Her 
hairpins fairly danced. “ Write for your paper! Why, it 
will all be shorts and middlings, and you will want num- 
ber one wheat flour.” 

“ There is a good deal in middlings. I know you can 
say something that will interest our readers.” 

“ I have a good will to try it; there are lots of things 
I’d like to give the world my opinion on.” 

“ I am sure you will make many friends by doing so.” 

“ I don’t think anyone has so many friends that she 
won’t have a real glad, strong feeling when she meets with 
a new one. I’ve heard a number of folks quote from your 
paper, and one of the best men in Clayton said it was 
the only paper he took that he was willing his daughters 
should always read every word of every issue.” 

‘‘ That has rested me as much as the ride.” 

“ I like to tell sensible folks the good things I hear 
about them. You have been to your old farm ? ” 

“Yes. Mr. Mills was anxious to see it again.” 

“ It has changed very much in three years.” 

“ I always notice the change when we go by. Mr. Mills, 
of all things in the world, I hate to see a place look old 
and feeble about the most. Did you call on Mrs. Chip- 
man ? ” 

“No. I didn’t want to go in.” 

“ I don’t believe you could have got in, unless it was 
one of her cleaning-up days. She is one of the kind of 
women who is always a going to and never does. I don’t 
dislike her at all, but I am not a bit interested in her. 
You go there and she acts polite, and acts friendly, and 
acts glad to see you, and when you go away, you feel as if 
there had been an awful sight of acting about all she said 
and done. She says ‘ I beg your pardon ’ about as often 
as I say ‘ and,’ and she’s got so used to it that she says it 
about as quick. We was at a picnic last week, and she 
went past a tree where I was sitting. She wanted to go 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


295 


to the table about a rod away, so she said: ‘I beg your 
pardon for passing in front of you.’ Tliere we was right 
out doors! I would just as soon think of asking pardon of 
the Chinese every day for stepping on their feet, and that 
would be carrying social cultivation a good ways. I am 
always expecting such people to be like highly cultivated 
fruit, apt to spoil easily. Mrs. Chipman is that way 
about everything, though. She don’t like to ‘go in front’ 
of anyone, in argument or religion, or anything. How I 
have run on 1 I would not have said what I have if I 
thought you would ever know her. She is only a real 
good sample of a negative in everything.” 

Madie laughed as she had not for months before. “ You 
have said enough for a good article already.” 

Mattie Crowan spoke to her mother after they drove 
away. “ Why didn’t you apologize for your appearance? ” 

“ They knew I had been to work in the garden, and 
both of ’em have good common sense. Besides, if one 
can’t dress and do as she pleases in her own house, where 
in the living world is she going to have any liberty?” 
Mattie considered her mother’s argument unanswerable, 
and made no reply. 

“ Madie is tired half to death, and I know it. I can’t 
see why folks that loaf on street corners have so much 
muscle, and this little girl, who is so anxious to be and do 
something, has so little. They are not worn out I sup- 
pose; it would not make much difference if they were.” 

Madie and Ealph, driving home in the twilight with the 
day’s thoughts clinging to them, talked more confiden- 
tially than they had yet done. 

“We shall establish a daily paper as soon as possible; 
a city of six thousand inhabitants ought to support one. 
In a year I hope to try the experiment.” 

“Are yoii going to continue in journalism ?” 

“I intend to. Why not?” 

“ But I — I — thought that you had other plans?” 

“I shall have no plans that are not closely connected 
with my own people. My home now, will always be my 
home; I could not leave papa.” 


296 


jack’s afire, 


“Madie!” — Ealpli liad never spoken her name like 
that; she looked up, then turned from him and covered 
her face with her hands. 

“Don't, Ealph, please; I have much to bear already. I 
know you will not add to my burdens.” 

“ I will not ‘ add to your burdens,’ Madie, if you will 
not let me lighten them ; but you will let me hear from 
you and your work now and then, or will that be too much 
to ask?” 

“I will write, Ealph; and I hope that both your work 
and mine will prosper. When you go East you will see 
Jean Cragie, my dear, loyal, true friend. Will you tell 
her that I am content, or will be when papa gets well?” 
Ealph promised. 

“‘Content!’” exclaimed Jean, when the message was 
given her. “She would say that, if her heart should 
break.” 

Ealph’ s strong letters were added to her cousins’ and 
Jean’s; Madie called them her ‘"helpers.” 

True to her promise, Mrs. Crowan began her contribu- 
tions to the Headlight People read the sharp, homely, 
original articles with the zest that Americans usually give 
to a novelty. “My Thinks, by Eliza,” were eagerly 
sought after. The first “Think” she sent to Madie was 

“ON FAULT FINDING. 

I had an uncongenial visitor to-day. I wasn’t very 
pleasant at first, but I happened to think what some of my 
friends must have undergone when I took it into my head 
to go a visiting, so I was careful of her feelings and lived 
through it; and that is about all we can hope for from 
such a visit. 

The burden of my visitor’s song, was her husband’s 
faults. If I could put a little more strength into some of 
my sisters ; many of them are so miserably weak, and that 
often stands next door to a sin. This woman — whose hus- 
band is loyal, loving, indulgent and honest — does not see 
his good qualities, and imagines she loves someone else. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


297 


Some women, Avlien they are sure of a man’s love are sick 
of it right away, and I’ve known several ‘vice versus’ of 
the same condition. 

Start right out, girls, to worship him and keep it u|)! 
and above all, be loyal and do not speak of each other’s 
faults to a third person. If you loved him once, it is a 
pretty good sign that there is something in him to love 
now. Don’t leave husband or wife, and try to find per- 
fection in someone else. You’ll have to reach heaven be- 
fore you find that. 

We can’t always control these hearts of ours, I know; 
but them that can’t are a mighty sight fewer than them 
that don’t want to. 

Don’t say ‘ George was profane when I married him ; but I 
broke him of his habit.’ He is better than you then, for he 
did stop his profanity, and you don’t stop your bragging. 

A stylish man is very attractive to some girls, but you 
want to study a minute. A white silk may be as good as 
a black one, but which will be the best after the every- 
day wear of say ten years. You must expect both to have 
lost a little of their freshness by that time, but the black 
will be no other color, you can find the original design if 
you look for it. 

A great many of the ‘ Lords of creation ’ seem to think 
it is for them to say to their wives, ‘ Take my yoke upon 
you; and learn of me.’ But that was given by Him, who 
was ‘meek and lowly in heart,’ to every brother and sis- 
ter that was, or is ‘weary and heavy laden;’ so both must 
bear the yoke, ere you ‘find rest unto your souls.’ 

Do not give coarse jokes to a pet idea. So many people 
who really love each other seem to think familiarity and 
crossness are the same thing. When we are as careful of 
the feelings of our own as we are of the world’s, and com- 
pany manners are carried into every-day life, a grand, 
happy nation will sing, 

‘HOME, SWEET HOME.’” 

“Will you write me an advertisement? I am going to 
start a lottery? ” 


298 jack’s afire, 

Madie took up her pen. “ I cannot until I know some- 
thing of it.” 

“I intend to pay for it, of course.” 

“But I could not be paid for advertising a fraud; we 
want our paper genuine.” 

“ I decline to give you any explanation. A man would 
be a fool to go into an enterprise that he did not expect 
to make a paying one. I do not force people to buy my 
tickets. No one need to spend a dollar if he doesn’t want 
to.” 

“But you represent it as if it were to their interest to 
invest.” 

“ I only bait my hook.” 

“And the poor fish bite and are caught. If they are 
murdered financially, it will be through no fault of our 
paper.” 

“You have lost by this business,” he said angrily. 
Madie make no reply. 

“ You charge too much a line,” said a pompous indi- 
vidual, who had been having some work done. 

“No more than the other papers in the city,” Christa 
answered. 

“Why don’t you praise our candidate?” asked a lead- 
ing politician of Clayton. 

“ Because he is not a good man,” said Madie. Thus, 
by their firmness and strict integrity, their readers 
profited. 

Mr. Burton was failing; those who saw him daily no- 
ticed it. The physician was again called in, and, after a 
careful examination, decided that his lungs were still 
affected. 

Mrs. Carter, as usual, gave her opinion: “If you had 
not spent every cent on that paper, you would be able to 
do more for him.” 

“ I cannot see even a spark of my emblem of labor,” 
sighed Madie. 

“Let me blow an encouraging breath upon it, and per- 
haps it will give a ray in this darkness,” said Christa, 
coaxingly. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


299 


“Madie is angry now,’’ said Mrs. Carter, as lier niece 
left the room. 

“She isn’t angry at all, bnt she can’t but be sad.” 
Christa was always ready to defend her loved sister. 

“No; I am not angry. I shall be, I am afraid, if peo- 
ple do not stop misunderstanding me,” Madie said to 
Aggie. 

“ My temper is very hard to manage these days; it 
takes me about half the time to go to each member of the 
family and take back the things I say when I am irritated.” 

“Be careful! You are abusing a friend of mine; let us 
take a walk and you will feel better.” The three girls 
and Bobert went down to the river. 

“I am not myself to-night; only a figure moving through 
the crowd. I have ‘gone a piece’ with every person I 
have met, and have tried to pry into their thoughts. 
Some have defied all curiosity ” 

“They were just the people that you were most in- 
terested in,” interrupted Kobert. 

‘•And others you read before you get to the corner, and 
are no more interested in them than you would be in any 
other advertisement of a free show,” said Aggie. 

A man was sitting on a rock by the water’s edge, his 
feet just clearing the water, his chin resting in the palm 
of his hand. He did not notice the group of young 
people, who walked out on the pier to look back at the city, 
but continued looking across the river and humming to 
himself in a dreamy way. 

The others heard the low croon, though they could not 
catch the refrain; the attitude and the contented, half- 
sad monotone attracted their attention. 

“ He is not thinking of the present or future, I know; 
he is dreaming of the past, and there is something bright 
and tender about it, or the melody would not be on his lips. 
He is a stranger, but I am sure he is a man of brain and 
feeling,” said Madie. 

“ Well, we will have it all in a poem to-morrow,” said 
Aggie, as they were leaving. 

The man arose, and turned toward them. “ Oh, Ma- 


300 


jack’s afire, 


die,” said Christa, almost choking with laughter; “that is 
Mr. Eoby, the editor of the Messenger.'^'' 

Madie joined in the merriment. “ I don’t think he has 
been very kind to us, but after to-night I shall consider 
him capahlGoi a kind action,” she said, not willing to give 
up the fancy she had had. 

“No, I do not believe in total depravity, even in a 
brother editor,” said Christa. 

Mr. and Mrs. Peyton were calling on the invalid. Mrs. 
Carter met the girls with a frown. “ You have to be at the 
office all day, and can’t spend an evening at home.” 

“We spend nearly all our evenings at home,” said 
Madie. 

“Don’t pout.” 

“There is a difference between pouting and sensitive 
quiet, Mrs. Carter,” said Aggie, taking up in her friend’s 
behalf. 

“There isn’t much difference between silliness and sin.” 
She had noticed, and been exasperated by the smile on the 
face of each, when they entered the house.' “ Silliness is 
just the opposite of wisdom, and no one ever yet commit- 
ted a sin that was wise or intelligent. If you engage in 
wise actions and sayings, you will not grow wicked. So 
silliness borders on sin.” 

“If it drives away sadness; it is wise in comforting. 
You call it silliness; I call it mirth or simplicity; and 
mirth may stand on the neutral ground between sin and 
sanctity.” 

“ God does not countenance such things.” 

“ Christ does, and I believe the work of redemption 
is as great as the work of creation. In fact, I do not see 
how we can separate the two, Mrs. Carter.” 

The woman was astonished; she had never before im- 
agined that Aggie Peyton could think or talk soberly. 

Mr. Burton had caught a severe cold and was restless 
and feverish ; Madie spent the night with him. In the 
gray dawn she went to her room for a brief rest. “ Twenty- 
two to-day; the mile-stones that mark the way to eternity 
are coming very fast, but there are days even now into 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


301 


which a lifetime of joy or sorrow seem to be crowded. If 
every year is to be tilled with events like the last, my al- 
lotted days should be reduced, or I shall have the exper- 
ience of Methuselah. Why did I say that? He had 
years only, we of to-day have the experience. It would 
be nice to have a few years of rest to think it all over. 
This was to have been my wedding day.” She would not 
allow herself to dwell on the past, and as sleep was far 
from her, she arose and went doAvn to meet the loving 
glances and good wishes, which were more grateful 
to her feelings than costly gifts would have been. 

“ Madie and Christa are the prettiest girls in town,” 
Bert and Benjie declared. 

While Josie said, twining her arms around Madie’ s neck 
and laying her soft cheek against her sister’s: “She is 
my own preshiss darling love ! ” 


302 


jack’s afiee, 


CHAPTEE XXXIV. 

WITH A CLEARER VISION AT LAST. 

Two men walked fearlessly into the fever-stricken homes 
of that great city ; the one, grave and calm, speaking with 
a tenderness hitherto unknown ; the other, with a face that 
wore a shadow for the first time in his life. 

“Mr. McLean, you must rest; you were weary before 
this began.” 

“ The work is mine to do; besides, I am used to it ” 

Phil was busy night and day, and Mr. McLean was his 
faithful assistant. “ I will write to Madie as soon as I 
have leisure, and tell her of his grandeur ; I am not afraid 
for her happiness now. I will talk to him, too, for I am 
proud to call him my friend,” he thought, as they went to- 
gether through those noisome rooms. 

One day he made his calls and did not meet his friend. 
“ I will go to his room and see if he is there.” 

He found him sitting at the window. “ I thought you 
would come,” he said faintly. “I have tried to go down 
to the street, but had to give it up.” 

“ The exhausted body is demanding rest. Sit still,” said 
Phil, as Mr. McLean attempted to stand. “I knew you 
were doing more than you ought.” He touched his wrist 
with quick, professional skill, walked to the table and 
prepared some medicine. “There! take this and get to 
bed,” he said peremptorily. 

“ No, I shall be able to help to-night.” 

“Do as I tell you.” And the man, who had ruled 
all his life, meekly obeyed. 

“ Phil,” he said presently, ignoring title and all, save 
the familiar name, “this was to have been mv wedding 
day.” 

Phil laid a cooling bandage around his head. “We 
shall have that yet, and I shall expect to be ‘best man.’ ” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


303 


“ I have written to her to-day, but I have not sent it; 
will you post it for me?” Phil took the letter. “I wronged 
her, but I have begged her forgiveness, and she will not 
cherish the remembrance; she will forgive me, I know.” 

“ Madie will both forgive and forget. I shall have to 
leave you noAV, Douglas, but I shall come back.” 

Phil went directly to Miss Cragie. “Mr. McLean is com- 
ing down with the fever ; he is so exhausted, I am afraid 
he will not pull through. Ought I to send for Madie?” 

“Yes; immediately,” she answered. 

Phil went to the telegraph office and sent the message, 
“The next thing is to procure a nurse,” he said, when he 
reached his uncle’s. “It will be a hard matter; the pro- 
fessionals are all busy. We could get any amount of help 
from his poor people, but I am afraid to trust such a seri- 
ous case as his promises to be with an inefficient person.” 

Carrie, who was visiting there, said: “I will go with 
someone. I do not know what to do, but will follow your 
directions.” 

“I will go with you,” said Mr. Burton. 

“Then I shall get Mrs Grenall, and corneas a relief 
watch,” Mrs. Burton promised. “It is dreadful to think 
of his being there alone.” 

“ Thank you, I feel relieved. Do not fear contagion, 
if you are cleanly and careful to take plenty of fresh air 
and rest. He is exhausted, or he would not have caught 
the infection ; he has breathed that impure air for weeks, 
and called himself ‘my assistant,’ when, in reality, I have 
only gone to the cases that he has hunted up.” 

Making his round of visits once more, Phil stationed 
himself beside his friend. 

“Madie, do you know what day this is? I was too 
stern, and too strongly prejudiced, Madie, but I will never 
be so again. They say you are tired, dear ; I am so tired, 
too. Will you put your little hand — with the ring on — 
in mine, and say ‘ Douglas’ just as you did that night? 
I’ll be rested then. The ring is fastened to my locket, 
will you bring it to me, Madie?” 

“ Send for her,” said Carrie, sobbing. 


304 


jack’s afiee, 


“I have,” her brother answered. 

“ Oh, God, don't let it be too late!” 

Madie was coming, in response to the despatch she had 
received on her birthnight. 

“ I am so sorry, darling,” said Christa, as she helped 
her to get ready. 

Phil handed the answering message to his uncle. “ She 
will be here to-morrow night.” Then gave his attention 
to the sick man, who raved and called for Madie, or whis- 
pered for her to “come and hold his head together with 
the hand that had the ring on.” 

The four who alternately watched beside him, prayed 
that he might be spared. 

“ Phil, how is he?” asked Madie, as she stepped from 
the platform, among the surging crowd. 

“No better.” In the carriage he drew her to him. 
“ You must be prepared for a great change, darling.” 

She clasped her hands tightly together, and made no 
answer. 

They were all waiting there, as if they would help to 
keep the great shadow from her. 

“ I cannot have him excited. You had better rest be- 
fore you see him,” said Phil. 

“ He may be calling for me now. I will be very quiet 
and brave. Uncle Joe, Jean, all of you, let me go now!” 

“It is the most merciful thing for both,” said Jean. 

“ Thank you, Jean.” In even Uncle Joe’s and Phil’s 
eyes there was a moisture at the pathos in her voice. 

Carrie took her hat and cloak, and she went in alone. 
“Douglas! ” the sweet voice pierced through the fog of 
the fever, to the clear reason beyond. 

“ Madie, you have come ! ” She was nearer to him in 
his weakness than she had ever been in the old days of 
his strength and arrogance. He rested, for the first time 
since his illness, holding her hand tightly. During those 
days of suffering, when reason seemed entirely gone, Ma- 
die’s voice never failed to reach through the darkness. 

“ Madie, little helper, are you sorry you married me?” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


305 


“No, Douglas.” 

“ I shall try to make you happy. I used to try to make 
you good, and all the time you were better than I. Did 
you know I was afraid you would not come back on our 
wedding day ? It seemed a long time, but you will stay 
with me always now?” 

“Always, Douglas.” She went to her cousin. “Phil, 
can’t you save him? ” 

“ I am doing my best, Madie, and have called in other 
physicians.” He felt the failure and weakness of human 
skill, as he had never felt it before. 

“ I know you will do all that can be done,” she said 
sadly, as she went back to her post beside Douglas. 

When the fever left him, he knew them all, but Madie’ s 
was the first face he saw. “You are here, and I have not 
been dreaming! ” he whispered. She laid her face down 
beside him. The others noticed the gray pallor of his 
countenance. 

“ You are tired, Madie, but could you stay with me 
alone, for a little while ? ” Phil beckoned them away. “I 
am going away, Madie; it is better so;” she tried to 
stop him. “No, dear, you were young and I was middle- 
aged. I would have crushed your young life, yet I loved 
you from the first, Madie, only I didn’t understand. I 
was coming for you, coming to beg your forgiveness, and 
you would have given it?” 

“I gave it long ago, Douglas. Phil gave me your let- 
ter, but I was not angry before that. I have the ring on 
my finger; it shall never be removed again.” 

“You will never forget me, Madie; but if another man 
should come to you, as I did such a short time ago, say 
yes if you can.” 

“Douglas, don’t.” 

“ I have seen him and know him to be a grand man. I 
knew he loved you when I read his letter. I was jealous 
and angry then, but now I am willing that he ” 

“ Douglas, I can’t bear it.” 

“Only this: I wtot you to remember in the years to 
come that I desired your happiness. Don’t forget my 
20 


306 


jack’s afire, 


people, Madie; come to them sometime and tell them I 
hope to see them all one day.” 

“ I will, darling ; some of them have been here every 
hour, bringing fruit and flowers and kindly wishes for you, 
and have gone away weeping when they were told you were 
no better. Try to rest, Douglas, and get strong.” 

“ I shall be better and stronger very soon, dear. I have 
written it all out. All I have is yours, to do with as you 
will.” 

Madie was putting the gray hair back from the white 
forehead. “Douglas, forgive me.” 

“I have nothing to forgive,” he said, remembering with 
a pang their last meeting. 

“Please try to get well, for my sake.” 

“ If I could, Madie, but it is of no use, and what is 
death now that we understand each other ? The living 
apart, disappointed and misunderstood, was the greater 
horror.” 

The bells, for the Sabbath afternoon meeting, were 
being rung. A change came over his face as he listened. 
Madie summoned her cousin. 

“I am going very soon. I wish I could call Madie by 
my name before I leave, but it is too late. Lift me up 
higher, Phil. Madie, little wife, sit where I can see you. 
‘God hath joined us together ’ at the last. Annie’s life 
went out at sunrise, and mine will go as the day closes.” 

The West was a flood of crimson. At the chapel his 
people, sad with the thoughts of him, were singing: — 

“ Nearer my God to Thee.” 

He heard it, and an inner light, softer and sweeter than 
the sunset, shone on his face. “Madie, it may be fifty 
years, but you will come to me at last. Good by, dar- 
ling ! ” 

“Though, like the wanderer,” they were singing now. 
He was breathing slower. The watchers bent tearfully 
forward, 

“Angels to beckon me 
Nearer my Gofl to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee.” 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


307 


Did the dying man join in those last words, or did they 
catch an echo through the “gates ajar?” Douglas Mc- 
Lean’s soul and the melody ascended together. 

Phil took Madie by the hand. “Come, dear;” but 
Madie did not hear him, the reaction had come. 

They carried him to the chapel, where so much of his 
grand work had been done, that all might see him again. 
It was a simple, touching ceremony, and every seat was 
“reserved for the mourners.” The long procession fol- 
lowed him to that quiet home, where could be heard 
the sweet whispers of Peace, in the leaves as they 
rustled downward, and the soft song of the birds, as 
if they would wake naught but sweet echoes in “ God’s 
acre,” and left him there, covered with blossoms, which 
mutely said, “Lord, keep his memory green.” 

A grand man, whose nature was simple as a child’s ; only 
warped, because the first ten years of his life he was made 
to think that Christianity and soberness, and deviltry and 
cheerfulness, were synonymous terms. And until ready 
to leave this world, when the broad light of the next was 
breaking upon him, he had never stepped from the shadow 
of that dogma. The grandest eulogy I can pronounce 
upon anyone. I give to him. Those who knew him best 
loved him best. 

“ Phil,” said Madie, the second day after the funeral. 
“ I should like to look over Douglas’ papers. I must go 
back soon. Will you go with me ? ” 

“ Yes, Madie, I am willing to do all I can.” 

They found all her notes and letters laid carefully away; 
then sermons and lists of visits to be made, and lastly, 
“the will,” leaving all to “my promised wife.” 

“Oh, Phil!” Madie broke into violent sobbing. 
Her cousin knew the tears would be a relief, and left 
her to herself for a few moments. 

“I will see that everything is packed away, and will 
wait your further orders,” he promised, when she had 
grown calmer. 

“ Phil, I have decided now; I shall take his books and 


308 


jack’s afire. 


paintings, and his few treasures beside ; the other furni- 
ture and clothing we will give to those who need them.” 

“There isn’t much clothing; he always gave away so 
closely.” 

“Themoney I shall leave with you to use for the poor — 
his poor — you have been with him and will know when 
and where to use it. He has spent his entire income for 
them, and often, I presume, infringed upon the principal. 
I think it must have been — from what I have heard him 
say — a large property at one time, although he was al- 
ways careful not to tell of his generosity.” Madie’s lips 
quivered again, and the great tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“He was ‘one of nature’s noblemen,’ ” said Phil, know- 
ing that praise of him would be a comfort to her. At first 
he tried to dissuade her from her purpose. “You can do 
a great deal with this money yourself, Madie, and you 
ought to use some of it for your own needs.” 

“No, I shall not take it; we are getting along comfort- < 
ably, and I wish to do this in his name ; his poor are my 
trust, you see. The chapel needs enlarging; you can 
do that and still help the individuals. This is my tribute 
to Douglas. Uncle Joe will help you in the disposition 
of the money.” 

She went home, and received loving sympathy from 
each member of her own family. Mrs. Carter waited, 
what she considered a reasonable time, and then asked for 
“the particulars concerning Mr. McLean’s death.” 

Mrs. Burton spoke almost angrily : “ Sarah, you shall not 
ask her to tell that which will nearly break her heart! ” 

“ Very well, but I do not see why she should grieve; 
he was not very kind to her ; she has never confided in me, 
yet I am sure they had had some trouble before she came 
home last spring. I presume, however, that he tried to 
rule her.” 

“Auntie, you shall not speak of him in that manner! 
He was good and noble ; he belonged to me, and stands to- 
day without a peer in my thoughts of all men. I will not 
hear one word in malice or censure of him. Find fault 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


809 


with me all you will, but Douglas’ lips are dumb forever; 
lie cannot defend himself, and no one should have any but 
kindly remembrance for him ; he has passed from earthly 
judgment. It is cowardly to speak illy of the dead.” 

“ Well, we will not argue further,” said Mrs. Carter, as 
she flounced out of the room. 

Madie threw herself into her mother’s arms. “Let me 
be a little girl for a minute, mamma!” 

“Yes, dear, as long as you wish,” Mrs. Burton said 
brokenly, and rocked her until her sobs died away, and 
she was asleep. 

“If I ever saw such a baby!” exclaimed Mrs. Carter, 
when she came back. 

“ Oh, mamma, how selfish of me,” said Madie, starting 
to her feet. 

“Not at all, dear; the chair was large enough for both, 
and you have had a half hour’s rest.” 

“Will you go with me to unpack the books, if Christa 
can come, too?” 

“Yes, when I have seen if your papa wants anything.” 

The boxes were unpacked. The volumes were placed 
in her own room, in the oflice, and carried down for her 
father to peruse; the paintings were hung on the wall, 
and thus she surrounded herself with constant reminders 
of her lost love. 

She again took up her work, and studied, and wrote, 
and thought for her family. 

“You should not work so hard,” said Aggie. 

“If I were not busy I could not endure this pain. I 
get through the days because of my work ; but oh, Aggie, 
the nights are dreadful! I wonder, sometimes, if I am 
the same girl who used to dance, and sing, and romp, and 
play ; or was it someone unlike myself, with whom I was 
very well acquainted ? ” 

“We all have days of feeling unreal to ourselves,” said 
Aggie, with her bright face saddened. 

Mrs. Carter left them late in the autumn. “There 
is no use in my sacrificing myself any longer. I am pro- 
voked at Madie for not taking that money. She could 


310 jack’s afire, 

have done a great deal with it, arid given up this editorial 
work altogether.” 

“I think she did perfectly right,” said Christa, “and 
neither you nor I will ever understand the height and 
depth of a nature as unselfish as Madie’s.” 

If Madie had accepted the money, Mrs. Carter would 
have told her that she would not have made friends with 
Mr. McLean for that amount of property. She was always 
on the contrary side, and, as Mrs. Crowan said, “A contrary 
person is one that likes to be lonesome in everything.” 

Phil wrote of his work, and of the good the money was 
doing. “ They bless him and you daily. The monument 
you selected is erected now; it is pure and simple as the 
man whose good deeds it commemorates.” 

Ned and Sada came up to spend the holidays with their 
“best friends,” bringing a little Madeline with them. 
“She is the sweetest baby I ever saw,” said the proud 
father, “ and she looks just as Madie did when she was 
small.” 

Sada’s sympathy was of the soothing sort, and it was 
pleasant for Madie to have her there. Ned’s quick insight 
into business matters, together with his legal knowledge, 
was of great benefit to his young cousins. “ Do they need 
pecuniary aid? ” he asked of Aggie and Robert. 

“ They will not accept it unless they are obliged to. 
They are determined to help themselves, and I’m proud of 
their independence,” said Aggie. 

“ So am I,” said Ned. 

“ Rest assured, I shall not see them suffer.” Robert 
betrayed his secret to Ned, as he spoke. 

“ I think that Robert and Ralph will both be rewarded 
for their patient w^aiting one of these days.” 

“Oh, Ned,” said his wife, “you are getting to be a 
regular match-maker.” 

“ Why shouldn’t I, when the only one I ever made has 
turned out so well for me? ” 

Sada smiled, but grew sober instantly. “I don’t know 
about Christa ; but Madie never will marry ” she said, 
confidently. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


311 


CHAPTEK XXXV. 

. “THE HOUSE THAT ‘JACK’ BUILT.” 

The Headlight was on a firm basis. In the spring they 
enlarged their quarters and “opened up” a daily paper. 
“ It will be difficult for the first few months. After that, 
I think it will be a success,” said Madie. 

But her self-congratulations were of short duration. 
Mr. Burton had caught a severe cold and did not rally 
from it. 

Mrs. Burton and her daughters consulted with the phy- 
sician: “As I told you last season, his lungs are affected. 
A year or so in the mountains would probably help him, 
for they are not beyond healing yet, but the spring months 
will be very bad for him in this climate. I should say 
that a year where it is high and dry would prolong his 
life for twenty years yet.” 

“Someone will have to go with him,” said Christa. 

“That someone must be you, mamma.” 

“Madie, how can I, or how can either of us go?” 

“ We shall see.” She looked at her library: “ No, I 
cannot sell anything belonging to /im.” 

Christa was busy with her own thoughts and plans, 
while she worked in the office, that day. When the car- 
riers departed with the last papers, the sisters walked 
home together ; yet they were strangely silent. 

Madie sat with her father that evening; when she 
joined Christa, her mind was fully made up. “ I want to 
talk with you, dear.” 

“And I want to talk with you,” said Christa, sitting on 
the foot of the bed, swinging a shoe back and forth by 
her little finger run through the buttonhole. 

“I have a plan,” said Madie. 

“ So have I,” returned Christa, with a forced smile. 

“Papa must go; and mamma must go with him.” 


312 


jack’s afire, 


“We can manage here at home.” 

“There’s Leon, Christa; he must be sold.” 

“Madie, there’s Daisy; she must go, too.” 

“Christa, listen! Josie will want her cup of milk, and 
Daisy will not bring so much in the market as Leon. We 
ought to keep one of Uncle Joe’s gifts, and we will not need 
Leon after papa is gone. He would only be a useless ex- 
pense. We can give all this money to papa, and will have 
more from the paper to send him after he reaches his des- 
tination. We do not want to mortgage the place.” 

Christa saw the force of her sister’s reasoning. “You 
know best, you always do.” She opened the door. 
“Mamma, will you come here a moment?” Mrs. Burton 
came. “We have decided that you are going with papa.” 

“I cannot go and leave you.” 

“Papa will need you more than we possibly can.” 

“He cannot go alone, and who knows what he needs so 
well as you? The expenses will be paid, do not worry.” 

She went away, doubtful still. 

“It was hard for you, Madie, to make up your mind.” 

“I am almost ashamed to confess that it w^as, Christa. I 
love Leon so well, but I love papa a thousand times better, 
and, waving her hair-brush, “ ‘Jack’ is still ‘Afire!’ ” 

Aggie and Bobert Peyton came in the next evening. 
“Papa and mamma are both going away. The doctor 
advises it, and we command it. We shall keep house, 
with the aid of Mrs. Bruce, who says she is ‘willing to 
wash and iron, and help Saturdays to rid up the house.’ ” 
Christa was making an effort to be cheerful. 

“Good!” said Aggie; “I’ll help all I can.” 

Madie went over to the sofa where Bobert was sitting. 
“I am going to sell Leon. Do you know of anyone who 
wishes to purchase a horse?” 

“I will buy him of you,” said Bobert, without a moment’s 
hesitation. 

“Do you really want him?” 

“I do, indeed. I have been looking for a horse, and 
Leon suits me better than any I have seen. Shall you 
sell the harness, and phaeton, and cutter?” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


313 


“Yes; I shall not need them when Leon is gone.” 

“Madie, let me loan you the money.” 

“No, Robert; I cannot.” 

“ Then I will buy them in the morning; and you shall 
always have the refusal of him ; I shall never let him go 
to any other.” 

“Thank you, Robert; I may want to own him again; 
but I shall not sell him with that understanding, for I 
may never be able to do it. I sold Star, you remember.” 

Robert did remember. 

Mr. and Mrs. Burton left the next week. “ It seems 
like a funeral,” said Mrs. Peyton, wiping her eyes when 
she saw Robert and Mr. Peyton assist Mr. Burton to the 
carriage. 

“He may never be brought back alive; but this is his 
last chance,” said the doctor. 

“ Help your sisters all you can, my sons, and obey them 
as you would us.” 

The manly boys readily answered: “ We will, papa.” 

“Daughters, you have been all that children could be 
to parents. No one can feel more deeply than I the bur- 
den that has rested on your young shoulders.” 

For many days these girls felt their father’s parting 
words following them like a sweet benediction. 

“I am glad Aunt Sarah isn’t here,” said Christa. 

“ No, I feel drab enough as it is,” said Madie. 

They were returning from the depot. A blind man 
drew their attention. With one hand he was moving his 
cane from side to side in front of him, to guide his foot- 
steps. On his left arm he carried a basket of apples. 
Purchasers were few. An old gentleman touched his arm ; 
he turned his sightless eyes toward him, and eagerly told 
tlie price of his fruit. 

“ Here is a pleasant item for our paper! One old person 
helping another,” Madie said, admiringly. “ It is beauti- 
ful.” 

She had spoken too soon ; for, with a greedy look at the 
apples, he said: “Are they a good eating apple?” 


314 


jack’s afire, 


“ Yery, you can try one if you like.” 

He was about to select one of the largest ; but caught a 
flash from Aggie’s bright eyes. “ I guess I won’t try 
them. I haven’t any change with me this morning.” 

“ He must have known that at first, and that makes his 
questions inexcusable,” said Madie, with a scornful look at 
the man, who readily understood that it was for him, and 
slunk away, feeling himself growing shorter at every step. 

Robert came up and bought all the apples the blind man 
had. 

“ Publish him,” said Aggie. 

“No, I don’t want to do that; but I will give the poor 
old fruit' vender a local, and advise all who go to that part 
of the city to buy his nice apples.” 

Madie’s little notice caused many to aid the old man, 
who was trying to help himself. 

“ How empty the house is! It doesn’t seem as if we had 
as much furniture as when papa and mamma were here,” 
said Benjie, dolefully. 

“I want my dear papa and mamma. They are just 
beautiful! I want ’em so much; I love ’em so much; I 
want ’em to come back to their little girl.” 

“Josie! Josie! do keep still; you almost break my 
heart,” said Madie. 

Robert called from the street : “Josie, don’t you want 
to go with me for a ride?” 

“Isn't that nice of him?” said Madie, when she had 
tied on Josie’ s hat and cape. 

“ He is always nice,” said Christa. 

Everyone was kind to the little girl, and, with the elas- 
ticity of childhood, Josie soon forgot her woes. She did 
not feel the daily absence as her brothers and sisters did. 

“ I do not see how you can accomplish so much,” said 
Mrs. Peyton. 

“ By measuring each duty and each minute together,” 
Madie replied. 

“ I thought you had gotten beyond housework,” re- 
marked another friend. 

“No; only gotten fo it,” was the pleasant rejoinder. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


315 


“Well, now! I’m just going to tell you,” said this 
kindly disposed neighbor; “I said, when you bought out 
that newspaper, that I didn’t believe you’d ever know any- 
thing about housework. Sez I: ‘They’ll just work in that 
office and study up on politics and them things that a 
Avoman hasn’t any earthly business to stick her nose into, and 
they’ll grow masculine, see' if they don’t.’ But you haven’t 
a bit; you’re just as womanly as any girls. I aint the 
only one as says so, either. Our Nathan used to say: 
‘ Them girls are nice to talk to, but they’ll make poor wives.’ 
He fooled himself in picking out a wife — ’cordin’ to my 
notion — Jennie’s kind o’ slack around home, though she 
does look dretful pretty when she goes out on the street. 
I have another son I’d like to have you get acquainted 
with.” 

This son was a widower, and was smitten with Aggie 
Peyton, but she gave him no encouragement. “ I have 
resembled three first wives already ; that is something I 
cannot help, but I can help going to their houses and permit- 
ting them to constantly draw comparisons between num- 
ber one and number two.” 

Christa laughed when she heard this speech; her mirth 
was increased Avhen she saw the lonely man ring Mr. Pey- 
ton’s door-bell that evening. 

Aggie kept him waiting for several minutes. “ I was 
at work in the kitchen,” she explained, when she 
came in. 

“ You seem to enjoy housework; I think every young 
lady should. My wife— you remind me of her every time I 
see you — understood all kinds of work ; she was a beauti- 
ful hand with a needle, as every woman ought to be.” 

“I must seem very poorly accomplished,” said Aggie; 
she did not quite like his attention, nor his universal labor 
views in regard to her own sex. 

“My dear young lady, you have a great many beautiful 
accomplishments, I am sure, just as a woman should have ; 
not that I think a woman should be a drudge, but she 
could be better able to direct her servants if she understood 
how to do everything. My wife loved to oversee the 


316 jack’s afike, 

work, and always kept her own accounts ; she was a very 
capable woman.” 

“Did your wife make her own bonnets?” asked Aggie. 

“She usually trimmed them. She was so tasty and 
seemed to enjoy it. She often used to say, ‘A woman is 
not accomplished unless she can attend to every womanly 
duty.’ I have missed her greatly.” 

“ Can you drive?” asked Aggie irrelevantly. 

He looked surprised; “Yes, certainly.” 

“ Of course you can harness a horse, then ? ” 

“Yes,” more puzzled than before. 

“ Can you shoe horses?” 

“ Why no! I have never tried. That is a blacksmith’s 
business.” 

“ Did you build your own house?” 

“I am not a carpenter,” he spoke coldly. 

“It is beautifully painted; did you do that?” 

“Miss Peyton, I am not a laborer nor a mechanic? I 
am an insurance agent.” 

“ Do men ever make their own clothes ? I was wonder- 
ing to-day if there was ever such a thing known.” 

“A well-dressed man certainly does not. I am very 
particular as to my tailor.” 

“ Pray excuse me, but I could hardly believe a man 
would demand so much more of a wife, than he would of 
himself. I supposed you would understand all trades. 
Your wife, you say, was a dressmaker, milliner, steward, 
cook, laundress, bookkeeper, chambermaid and did fancy 
work besides. I agree with you that she must have been 
a wonderful woman; and you are an insurance agent; 
I am not surprised that you have outlived her.” 

The widower was really uncomfortable. “ I have two 
friends who carry on a daily paper and they have been 
criticised for ‘ stepping out of their sphere.’ It strikes 
me that when a woman is expected to do so much, it is 
almost impossible to ‘ step out of her sphere.’ I cannot 
see why the labor question for woman should be so dif- 
ferent from the one for men. Although the former sel- 
dom ‘strike,’ it would be as well if they did sometimes.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


317 


The resemblance to his deceased wife vanished that 
evening and was never observed again. He was intro- 
duced to Christa Burton and was interested immediately. 
“ Her eyes are a good deal like Martha’s.” He haunted 
the office, but the girls were too busy to entertain him. 
Madie, in her black dress, was too much like a widow. 
He admired a young girl more, and was only forty-five 
himself. 

One Sunday evening he called for Christa to accom- 
pany him to church. Having no good excuse for not go- 
ing she went with him to the Methodist church. 

The subject of the discourse was “ Change of Heart,” as 
the minister himself said, “A regular revival sermon in 
hot '\7eather.’” 

“How did you enjoy the sermon?” he asked. 

“I liked it, although he did not preach exactly as I 
have been taught. Did you like him?” 

“I did not think he reasoned quite enough.” 

“He seemed to know just when to stop. I thought he 
was honest with himself, and only stated his own convic- 
tions. I do not think a congregation can be satisfied with 
a minister who leads them up to a wall and leaves them 
there, while he crawls into the chink himself and shuts 
out the only ray of light they might have. If he only 
leads them toward the wall, and lets them get the light 
‘ on the slant ’ from the other world to this, it is a great 
deal better than to take them into the shadow, and leave 
them to batter against the wall, before they are ready to 
be let in.” 

“I am almost an infidel myself. I presume, because I 
have reasoned too much. It makes me unhappy, too.” 

“ One is apt to be unhappy if he studies, and tries to 
understand mighty things, and still remains in doubt. I 
do not try to argue with, nor teach people who are a great 
deal wiser tlian I, and I have never yet tried to tell to 
God that His creation or plan of salvation was not quite 
up to my ideas.” 

“Her eyes are like Martha’s only in color; the expres- 
sion is entirely different.” So he departed, searching 


318 jack’s afire, 

still for a wife, with a versatility of talents such as Martha 
had had. 

“Our Daily is not thriving as well as I could wish. 
The extra expense is great. I dislike the idea of giving it 
up, because I hate to undertake anything and make a failure 
of it, and besides I do not want to turn our ‘help ’ off.” 

“Madie, it is a warm morning, I know, but I didn’t 
think you would let the^re go out entirely ! ” Christa laid 
her hand on the brown hair, where the shadow slept in 
the deep hollow of the waves and the sunlight touched 
the crest. “ Just let it smoulder on, little sister; better 
to blow it out of your own free will than to throw it away 
to die.” 

“We must send some money to papa.” Madie ex- 
plained, as she turned to her desk. 

“What have you ready for to-day’s issue?” 

“The report of yesterday’s city election; most of the 
rural districts have sent in their returns, too, and we have 
the locals. I think there is nothing left but the late dis- 
patches.” 

“Can you attend to the rest to-day?” 

“ Easily ; are you sick, Christa ? ” Madie asked anxiously. 

“No, dear, but I have some work that I should like to 
do at home.” She stooped and kissed her sister, and went 
out into the street. Madie stood by the window, looking 
after her. She was surprised at Christa’s desertion, but 
not at all hurt. It was a principle with the sisters not to 
ask questions of each other. Each confided as much or as 
little as she chose. She went back to her desk. An 
autograph album, that had been brought for her to write 
in by one of her Sabbath school class, lay upon it. 

“These albums are almost a horror to me. I never 
write well in them. It is useless to look for the best 
specimen of one’s penmanship in an autograph album, or 
of expression in a photograph.” Turning the leaves 
slowly, she read one after another, simple, silly, witty and 
wise. She came to a page and read it through slowly, 
turned back and read it again. 

J 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


819 


“I am glad I looked at this book to-day; I have had a 
good word given me.” The lines were: 

“ I hear it singing, singing sweetly, 

Softly in an undertone; 

Singing as if God had taught it, 

‘ It is better further on.’ 

Ni^ht and day it sings the same song; 

Sings It while I sit alone, 

Sings so that the heart may hear it, 

* It is better lurther on.' 

Sits upon the grave and sings it; 

Sings it when the heart would groan; 

Sings when the shadows darken— 

‘ It is better further on.’ 

Further on? but how much further? 

Count the mile-stones one by one; 

No! no counting— only trusting, 

‘ It is better further on.’ 

All that day, and for many days after, a voice seemed 
to whisper the last line. 

The paper was being run off; the great steam press, 
almost human in its marvelous, tireless effort, was strik- 
ing off the “letters” from these girl editors, to the friends 
who were watching for them. Madie gathered up the 
scraps and clippings for the next day's work, and stepped 
into the composing-room to say a kind word to those who 
were working there. Many of them were girls like her- 
self, and a pleasant word was like sunshine on a flower. 
They straightened up and smiled back at her. 

“Time,” called the foreman. And tongues were loos- 
ened as they left their work behind them. 

“ She’s kind to us girls, and to everyone, I guess,” said 
one young girl as she ran down the stairs. 

The little locket Madie always wore caught her eye to- 
night, as, it gleamed against her dark dress. 

“ ‘Could you come back tome, Douglas! Douglas!’ ” she 
murmured. “I wonder if you know how much I miss 
you, Douglas ? If you were only where I could write to 
you! ” The hot tears came, but she crowded them back. 

“A letter from mamma,” said Christa, when she went 
home. “ Papa is no better, but the physicians there give it 
as their opinion that lie Avill be. It may take longer for 
him to get well than they at first expected.” 

“If he gets Avell, Ave can afford to Avait. We must 
Aviite a cheerful letter back to them.” 


320 


jack’s afire, 


“ I am restless, Madie ; and I think we will rest better 
if we do not room together.” 

“Do as you like, Christa. I will keep Josie with me 
still.” 

Christa gathered her drawing paper together and left 
the- room. Mr. Eaynor, the leading architect of the place, 
called. 

“ Is Miss Christabel at home?” 

“Yes, sir. AVill you walk in? and I will call her.” 

“ My wife told me that you wished to see me, so I came 
over,” he said, when Christa came into the room. 

“Thank you.” She closed the door, and told him of the 
object of her call upon him. 

“I will look at your draughts.” 

She went to her room and brought back a portfolio. 
Both were soon interested in its contents. 

“ I am really astonished at your skill, and am willing to 
trust you with the work for both buildings. If you need 
any assistance, let me know. I do not like to plan, myself, 
as I do not think I have originality enough.” 

Night after night, Christa worked, and planned, and 
thought. Then sent a hugh pile of drawings to Mr. 
Raynor, who carried them to the stock company. They — 
after mature deliberation — accepted them. 

“ Look ! ” she cried, bounding into the room, and dropping 
a cheque into Madie’ s lap. “We can send this to papa, and 
it will last them for a long time.” 

“ What have you been doing, Christa? ” 

“You see, Madie, ever since your disposal of Leon, I 
have been anxious to get partially even with you. I have 
not forgotten how you kept me the last quarter in Boston. 
I heard them talking in the office of the new hotel, and 
from their conversation I got an idea of what they wanted : 
so I drew an ideal hotel, and planned it all out. Mr. 
Raynor helped me with some of the specifications, and the 
result is, the company have accepted ‘mine inn.’ ” 

Madie was so lost in admiration of her sister, that she 
could not speak at first. “ Dear me, how our Torch is 
burning! I think you are holding it now.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


321 


“Indeed, not I. Jnst fanning it into a little brighter 
flame with my drawing paper while it is in your hands. 
Five hundred dollars isn’t bad, is it?” she asked 
gleefully. 

“ I should think not; and I think we will all have to say 
that, ‘ This is the house that Jack built,’ when we look 
at that hotel,” said Madie. 

A cheerful letter was sent to their parents, who laughed 
and cried in turn. “We are blest in our children,” said 
Mr. Burton. 

“ And in each other,” his wife added. 


21 


822 


JACK’8 AFIKE, 


CHAPTEE XXXVI. 

A SEEMON FROM THE “HEADLIGHT.” 

Those who are in haste to reach the end may omit this 
chapter, if they choose. 

The two rival “Weeklies” were not at all pleased with 
the “Daily.” The “first established in Clayton, and in 
charge of two women at that.” They did not criticise as 
they had done at first, but they did a more contemptible 
thing, by treating the efforts of the earnest girls with rid- 
icule. 

Madie continued to ignore these editorial sneers for 
some time ; but when she found that the town was divided 
into two factions, the one for, and the other against, and 
read such sentences as the following, she decided to an- 
swer them. 

“The motto of The Daily Headlight is: ‘Let your 
light so shine before men,’ and should therefore be for- 
warded immediately to heathen countries.” 

“ The Headlight is authority on finance and fashion, be- 
ing run by the gentler sex.” 

“We bespeak for The Headlight unbounded success, as 
it is an exponent of political power.” 

“Modern chivalry demands that we compliment our 
fair contemporaries.” 

“The pastors are all out of the city, enjoying their va- 
cation, and I am going to have a sermon in our Saturday 
evening’s paper. There are many things I wish to talk 
about.” 

“They helped everyone his neighbor: and everyone 
said to his brother. Be of good courage.” Isaiah. 41-6. 

This might have been in the day of that good old 
prophet of the southern country, but if such a state of 


OB, THE BUBTON TOBCH. 


323 


affairs could be brought about to-day we should think that 
the millennium had come. 

The prevailing prayer of the people of the Nineteenth 
Century is fully as selfish, though not as outspoken, as the 
old deacon’s: “God bless me and my wife, my son John 
and his wife, us four and no more.” We are apt to put 
so much stress in getting ourselves safely and comfort- 
ably through this world, and only concern ourselves about 
our neighbor’s welfare in the next; yet we do very little 
to help him in his upward path. 

It is possible for a person to be a stumbling-block 
in his own path, but he only trips himself up and that 
is better than to lie across the path where many are 
coming; and with sneers, and jeers, and patronizing 
assumption of superior wisdom and goodness, try to 
turn them into a road that winds around the hill, lower 
down. 

We honor the man or woman who pays no heed to 
such an one, and walks grandly in the road previously 
marked out. 

There are many souls before the World’s Court of 
Chancery, whose title has been given, in our human judg- 
ment, to the evil one, but there is one Higher Court, the 
“records must be delivered to the King’s Bench,” and 
they may yet be recorded in the Book of Life, if someone, 
somehow, somewhere — by speaking a kindly word to them 
and letting them know that human sympathy, and love, 
and kindness are given them here below — proves to these 
souls that by the Equity of Redemption'^ the “estate is 
of greater value” up yonder “than the sum for which it 
was mortgaged here.” 

Sorrow has its own grand ministry. The major chords 
are swelling out in a grand wordless song, bringing their 
laughter and sunshine to all, making us think of ourselves 
and how good a thing it is to be alive ! But when the 
sweet, sad, minor strains come fioating into our lives, 
bringing their pathos and tears, we prove there is some- 
thing Beyond by crying in our agony and fear, “ God help 
us! ” Did ever anyone know of a time of great danger 


324 jack’s afiee, 

and grief, when that was not the first involuntary cry from 
saint and sinner? 

Every now and then we hear a stirring missionary ser- 
mon, and we put our hands in our pockets and help to 
send someone to those trans-Pacific countries and think we 
are answering our text. 

A man’s influence should be like the waves from the 
pebble thrown into the sea, widening from center to cir- 
cumference. First the home, and then the world around 
you, not the world far off and then the home, there may 
never be a return trip. It is not for all of us to “ Let our 
light shine” across the ocean, but it is something to light 
up our own neighborhood. We do not “ love Caesar less,” 
but we do “love Rome more.” Think of the ignorance 
and narrowness of a country that boasts of its civilization ! 
We pay to support foreign missions and then sigh that 
the world is “growing worse every day.” 

In our humble paper we have striven to notice 'the good 
and bring it before our readers. A man stole a crust of 
bread because he was poor and starving ; it was published 
far and near. The same week another man came 
and gave to an entire family food and shelter and 
clothes, and no one knew of it outside the circle where the 
deed was done. 

When we hear people croaking about the sins of the 
world, we cannot but think that they are below par them- 
selves. Perhaps if we had the same obstacles to over- 
come and the same people to deal with, that many have 
who deal with us, we should be no better than those 
whom we criticise. 

We have usually a better knowledge of the motives, 
which prompts us to say and do, than any other can have. 
We do not dare to be so egotistical as to think that we are 
better or wiser than any other; we do try, however, to 
average with regard to ourselves and our work. 

When we hear of some underhanded word, or action, we 
stop and think, would we do that ? If we would not, we 
do not hesitate to say, especially to the guilty party, 
“That was wrong.” We hear of many things that stand 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


325 


at par, and pass them by unnoticed, but are ready to cry 
“ Bravo,” when we are surpassed, as we often are. 

How often we hear ‘ that man is a church member, 
but he isn't a Christian.” “■ There are just as many Chris- 
tians outside the church as there are in.” Prove it to God ! 
The church has brought the world from the dark ages ; 
not those outside. Luther, Melancthon and Wesley, 
though they did not agree with the church as they found 
it, were always church men, and so has every person been 
who has caused a tidal wave of reformation to roll over 
the world. 

“I am just as good a Mason as any Knight Templar on 
earth!” What would you think of such a man? What 
if Sherman had marched to the sea with a host of 
boys in broadcloth ? They might have been soldiers just 
the same, but we would not have believed it until they 
had done some fighting. 

We are too apt to expect perfection in a church mem- 
ber, and to take a good deed as a matter of course. 
“That’s his belief, and no more than he ought to do.” 
But if he do something wrong in our sight, “See what he 
did, and a church member, too! ” 

Then we hear, “the church is weak; there are many 
hypocrites.” 

Did you ever know of a counterfeit that was not backed 
by something genuine? If the church of Christ were 
not worth a hundred cents on the dollar “yesterday, to- 
day and forever,” there would never be a counterfeit 
Christian. 

The false profession will not help nor injure you, and 
it may be for you or me to “help” this “brother.” 

We would like to speak of our neighbor’s children. 
We say more before them than we ought. A child’s 
memory is not thrown aside when he reaches manhood; 
they carry their dislikes and prejudices with them. We 
let children read vile things many times, that we would 
blush to have said before them, and they often find them 
in a family paper. 

Sitting at our office window, we heard a conversation, 


326 


jack’s afire, 


between two school girls, that was as perfect an imitation 
of grown-up conversation as we have ever listened to. 
They met in the street and stopped to converse about 
their neighbors. 

“You haven’t been to school lately?” 

“ No, I’ve been at home. Mamma has had ever so 
much company. I’m going over to Mrs. Smith’s.” 

“Jim got drunk the other night, and Katie felt dread- 
fully.” 

“My, my! what a pity ; but then it’s all you can expect.” 

“I don’t know what this world is coming to.” 

“Joel joined the Temple of Honor the other night, and 
my brother said he made a splendid speech.” 

“Did he? I am surprised! I don’t believe one of 
that family will ever amount to anything, though.” 

“ He’ll be apt to break his pledge.” 

“ Yes, I don’t look for much else.” 

Those girls had learned something not found in school- 
room or text book ; and not so easily forgotten. 

One of the most mischievous boys in the city has been 
of service to us a number of times. When a relative of 
his was told of his kindness, he said: “I never should 
have expected that boy to do so well.” 

But when some windows were broken by him, while 
scuffling with another boy, it “was exactly what he ex- 
pected.” 

People who are always looking for evil are apt to find 
it, and we are afraid that they are often glad to have their 
search rewarded. Those who look for good will be 
equally successful. The two are more evenly distributed 
than many are prone to believe. 

“ They helped everyone his” — sister? How can she be 
helped when in every new path she ventures to enter, she 
is met by the club of menace and ridicule, in the hand 
of a brother who guards the way ; she cannot write an 
article on her country’s needs, but she can wash for her 
countrymen. 

Every woman cannot be supplied with a kitchen, nor 
every man with a spade. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


327 


A woman can choose her life-work better than any man 
can choose it for her. 

Did anyone question Clara Barton’s earnest womanli- 
ness when she went over those southern battle-fields, or 
through those hospitals? It was a time when no one 
could stop to ridicule or censure. There are grand excep- 
tional women to-day, as there are grand exceptional men. 
And on every page of history the name of some brother 
and sister stand out boldly and beautifully. Do not throw 
an obstacle in our way, we pray you! 

“And everyone said to his brother, be of good courage.” 
There is nothing given so little, and needed so much, as 
encouragement. How much better work every man, 
woman and child could do, if every friend would say: “I 
bid you God speed.” 

These words should shine like a beacon light, from 
every point on the shore of the river of Time. No mat- 
ter what the name of the craft in which we are sailing 
toward the “ Ocean of Eternity.” Let the one watchword 
be “Jesus!” and all creeds and sects Avill enter together, 
whether it be guided by the stalwart hand that has grown 
accustomed to deep waters, through steering the ship of 
state, or the slender one that dips the oar of the home- 
ward bound vessel, or only the tiny hand of a little child 
to flutter the sail. We sing: 

“ Sail on! the morning comethi 
The port ye yet shall win. 

And all the bells of God shall ring, 

The good ship bravely in.” 


On Monday morning Madie met the editor of the Mes- 
senger. “ Miss Madeline, if there is anything that I thor- 
oughly enjoy, it is a real good threshing, and you have 
given it to me handsomely. I was a little piqued, I think, 
and did not have much idea that you would succeed. I 
am satisfied now, and I humbly beseech you to forget my 
ungentlemanly conduct.” 

“ I don’t believe I can remember anything at all, even 
now,” said Madie smilingly. 

The rain was falling and the leaves dripping with tears. 


328 


jack’s afiee, 


“ If I do not see the sun to-day, I am sure it will be a 
bright day,” she added, looking up at the gray sky. 

“ I think we both feel better prepared to begin the 
week’s work because of this meeting,” said Mr. Boby ex- 
tending his hand. “ I was intending to open up a daily 
in the fall, and it provoked me to think you had beaten 
me.” 

“ I am sure that both will do well if we try.” 

“And I am sure that I shall try. Good morning.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


329 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

CRAZY-WORK PATTERNS ! 

Our girls tried to carry on tlieir home life as well as to 
attend to their paper. 

In the evening one would rock Josie to sleep, while the 
other would read or relate some pleasing story, or a little 
poem, that the younger ones had read with the physical 
eye only. It was a constant surprise to those hoys to 
hear the bright ideas from their sister, which “oft were 
thought, yet ne’er so well expressed.” 

“ How in the world do you see so much, Madie? ” asked 
Benjie one evening. 

“They are a countless number who have ‘eyes and see 
not,”’ she answered with a meaning smile. “ Both beauty 
and duty lie nearer than we know.” 

“ I think you are both beautiful,” said Josie emphatic- 
ally. 

“You will always have to drive carefully around the 
field of thought, or some of the grain will be left stand- 
ing,” said Bert, who was trying to chime in with his sis- 
ter’s thoughts. 

“ Be careful that you keep in the same field you started 
out on, Bert, or you may trespass on some other person’s 
ideas,” said Benjie. 

The boys, taller than Madie, had grown up to her con- 
versation ; they were on their good behavior most of the 
time, though they were real boys, and would break over 
rules sometimes, yet the spirit of being useful had so per- 
meated the lives of the older sisters, that it was infectious. 
They were all so anxious that the weekly budget of news 
to their parents should be filled with good report, that the 
desire extended down to Josie. 

Bert and Benjie had helped at home and in the office 
during the long summer vacation, and cheerfully as- 


330 


jack’s afire, 


sisted after school had begun, whenever they could leave 
their lessons. The little girl, who spent her time with her 
sisters in the office, at home and with Aggie Peyton, was 
puzzling her baby mind with questions as to what she 
could do. One night, when she knelt by her crib in the 
room that opened into the one occupied by her sisters, they 
heard a variation to her little prayer. 

“ Please, God, bless my papa, and mamma, and big sister, 
and little sister, and my brothers — both of them — and my 
cousins and all the folks. Make my papa well, 
please, and bring him and mamma back home, and 
have lots of descriptions come in for the Head- 
light^ and Christa to build more houses ; and have my boy 
doll have a new coat; and now — this is what I want the 
most of all — please reach down and pull me up a little 
taller so’s I can do something for my folks. It will tickle 
my papa and mamma so to hear it; don’t pull me up so 
big that they won’t know me, but just big enough to help. 
With lots of love, dear God, I am, your own Josie. Amen.” 

She had dictated so many letters to her parents that 
nearly everything she said either began or ended in the 
form of a letter. Her sisters had become accustomed to 
hearing her begin her devotions with “My dear God, I 
want to talk to you to-night.” 

She had been “pulled up” quite a good deal, but just 
before she celebrated her sixth birthday, she had an at- 
tack of croup, and her sisters were afraid her prayer was 
going to be answered and she would be “ lifted ” above all of 
them. But the morning found her better ; Mrs. Peyton and 
Aggie took her in charge, when the sisters were obliged 
to leave. 

“I am going to take her out home with me; it will do 
her ever so much good,” said Mrs. Crowan, and her words 
were prophetic. Josie came back to them round and rosy, 
after having spent three weeks in that pleasant country 
home. 

A year had gone by since Madie stood by that open 
grave. Her near friends remembered that it was an an- 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


331 


niversary and were more kind and considerate, if possible, 
than they had been before. 

“I did hope that the sun would shine to-day, but it is 
dreary without and within,” said Christa, looking from the 
window upon the street to see the drops splash idly down 
into the gutter. 

‘•Yes,” said Aggie, to whom she was speaking, “ I feel 
lonely myself. It seems as if the world were weeping 
everywhere.” 

“ It isn’t a violent rain that promises to leave us before 
the day is done. It isn’t aggressive enough to make me 
place myself on the defensive when I am out of doors, 
and it does not sooth and lull as it falls, quieting nerves 
and bidding earth be glad because of its coming, as is the 
case with the spring rain. But it is a dreary apologetic 
sort of a drizzle; I should know it was an autumn rain if 
I had lost the almanac and could not see the leaves on the 
trees. It comes down because there doesn’t seem to be 
anywhere else for it to go. The clouds must be glad to 
get rid of it. It is the most homeless rain I ever saw or 
heard.” 

“ Then treat it with distant politeness as you would any 
other unwelcome guest. But do not talk about the 
weather any more ; it is not exhilarating to any of us,” said 
Aggie. 

Madie opened the piano and played “ Douglas, Tender 
and True,” over and over again, sweeping in a minor strain 
as she transposed it from one key to another. 

“Don’t, Madie,” pleaded Josie, “ the piano cries so ! Can’t 
you hear it ? ” She took her little sister in her arms and, 
in trying to cheer her, left her own sorrow. 

“We must have someone to stay in the house all the 
time, now that winter is coming on,” said Madie. 

“We might learn of someone from Mrs. Bruce. The 
fires will have to be kept up and Josie must be kept in 
doors; shall I call her in? ” 

“ If you will, Christa.” 

Mrs. Bruce was greatly attached to the girls and was 
eager to be of service in any way. “ My dochter has lost 


332 


jack’s afiee, 


her gude mon and she has coom fra her ain home to be 
wi’ Donald and myseP. We hae talked it all ower at 
tlie hoos and she is na willin’ to go far awa; bnt she wad 
be inuckle glad to helpit you.” 

“Mrs, Bruce, you have lightened my burden more than 
I shall be able to tell you.” 

“I wadna try. Miss Madeline! I’ll go back and tell 
Mary, and she’ll be coomin’ to spend the nicht.” 

So it was that Mary Leith came to preside over the 
Burton household. Honest, faithful and friendly ; Madie 
and Christa wondered, before she had been there two days, 
how they could have gotten along without her for so long 
a time. 

Christa detested mathematics, but she was busily ci- 
phering that October day. Madie noticed her perplexed 
expression. 

“What is it, Christa? ” 

“ Preparing a paper on finance. I find, however, that 
‘it is not suited to our columns.’” 

“ Why not? ” 

“It is too personal, it seems as if our business resem- 
bles that of the southern planters before the war. They 
raised more cotton to buy more negroes to raise more 
cotton. We have taken in money, but we have spent it to 
enlarge the paper. Machinery and help take off the profits 
every time. So many people have enjoyed specimen 
copies. It is a good year for potatoes and our subscrib- 
ers are determined to pay their subscriptions in that way. 
I don’t believe that a team has come in from the country 
for a week, without bringing us a few potatoes, or squashes 
or some vegetable. The house is redolent with onions. 
The cellar is full and buckwheat and turnips are yet to be 
harvested. We have told them that we do not need them, 
but with a smile that strikes me as absolutely fiendish, 
each one says, ‘ Such things never go amiss. I thought 
I’d give you the advantage and let you have them while 
they are cheap.’ The fact in, Madie, fall is here and 
winter is coming.” Aggie came in, as Christa con- 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


333 


eluded: “I cannot see my way clear to a ‘jockey liat and 
feather.’ ” 

“And if you don’t, you will hear: 

‘ I don’t think much of you, miss, 

Sung by boys and girls together.’ ” 

sang Aggie, finishing out the simple old medley to suit 
herself. 

Christa smiled, and tried to interest herself in some- 
thing else. A trifle like that is often harder to bear than 
a greater grief would be, because one feels all the time 
how foolish it is, and that she can not expect the sympathy 
of her friends. “ I have canceled out one after another 
needed article. I am tired of my one nice suit.” 

“Can’t you get a suit for twenty dollars?” 

“I think I could, Aggie; but I should then be obliged 
to have a balance of eighteen dollars and sixty-three cents 
charged to my name.” 

Madie had left the room, and Christa could talk freely 
to Aggie. 

“ Christa, why don’t you let Eobert take care of you? 
I know it is the one wish of his life.” 

“Don’t, Aggie, if you love me! I cannot leave dear 
little Mai with all the burden. She does more now than she 
ought to.” 

“Eobert would help her, too.” 

“ She would not permit it.” 

Aggie could not help but admire her independence. 
“ He will win her yet, if he waits patiently,” she thought. 

“ Christa, I have a little money. I wear somber colors, 
you know, and my suit will only need freshening a little. 
You shall have your new costume.” Madie had gone ofl' 
by herself, to think it all out, and came back with the 
conclusion. 

“No, dear; I will not be so selfish.” 

“ But I insist upon it, Christa. I shall not use it for 
myself. The rest of the family are provided for. We 
will look for a sewing woman to-night.” 

“ There is a little lame dressmaker down street, with 
the sweetest face I ever saw. She dresses neatly, but so 


834 


jack’s afire, 


very plainly that I think she cannot be crowded with work. 
We will goto her if yon ‘insist’ upon my being so selfish.” 

The delicately beantifnl face of the dressmaker was 
radiant at the work given her. “May I make the dress 
just as pretty as I want to?” she asked, in a voice that 
vibrated like music along the syllables. 

“We will trust to your taste,” the girls answered to- 
gether. 

She turned her head on one side, and studied Christa’s 
face and figure in a way that amused both sisters. 

“ I haven’t much work at present, so I can dream out a 
pretty costume,” she said blithely. “ I was afraid I 
would have to close my shop; fuel is so high. I am a 
stranger, and people do not readily patronize one whom 
they know nothing about.” 

“Come home with us and do your sewing there. You 
will have plenty of warmth and light, and will not be 
troubled with anyone, as we are away all day long.” She 
was pleased with Madie’s invitation, and gathered model 
and patterns together and went to a home for a few days. 

Christa’s fall suit was tasteful and becoming. Eobert 
glanced proudly at her many times, when she first wore it. 
“ The nicest thing about it is that I don’t feel neio with 
it on. I have had dresses that made me feel as if I’d like 
to go off into a wilderness and wear them until I could 
feel at ease in them. But this seems made for me,” she 
said, looking complacently at herself, as she turned round 
and round before the mirror. “ Say what we will, a mirror 
has attractions for even the plainest face. I can look 
more curiously and more critically at myself than at any 
other person.” 

“I agree with you,” said Eobert. “I do not believe 
that anyone, but a blind man, can sit or stand near a mir- 
ror and not look at himself every few moments.” 

“And even then he will not have so good an idea of his 
own expression as of that of the veriest stranger. We 
always have our still look when we consult our mirror or 
sit for a photograph. Will you stay and do Josie’s ward- 
robe, Miss Eipley ? ” 


Oli, THE BURTON TORCH, 


385 


“I shall be only too glad. It will be lovely to make 
her little dresses,” the seamstress replied, to Christa’s ab- 
rupt question. 

So the sisters’ old clothes were fashioned for the 
little girl, to look “ amaist as weel as new,” and the little 
dressmaker broke into snatches of song as she sewed, and 
the color came into her pale cheeks. Josie was in rap- 
tures and stayed with her constantly. “ Hear the birds, 
Josie,” she said, one night just before sunset. “They will 
be going south soon. If I were blind I believe I could 
tell the time of day by the birds’ songs.” 

“ Your face looks as if the moonlight were shining on 
it all the time.” Benjie’s face expressed even more ad- 
miration than his words. 

“Does it?” and her childish laugh gurgled out. Madie 
and Christa heard her, and smiled, though they did not 
know the cause of her mirth. 

“Let us have her here over Sunday. It will be much 
nicer for her than in her lonely room.” 

“Of course, Madie! It was nice in you to think of it.” 

Lilian Eipley had never been more highly pleased with 
any offer of hospitality, than with this simple request 
from Madie to spend the Sabbath with chem. “I am so 
glad you have asked me. You must have known that I 
would accept, so your invitation was not an idle one. 
Sunday away from mother is a very long day. She is 
coming as soon as I can s I for her, and she will bring 
home right with her.” 

“Are you sure you are acting wisely in taking a 
stranger into your house in this way?” Mrs. Peyton 
asked Madie, a trifle anxious at her lack of worldliness. 

“We are willing to take her on trust, and I am sure it 
will not be betrayed.” 

“I should not have interfered at all, had your mother 
been here.” 

“I understand, Mrs. Peyton, and appreciate your watch- 
ful care, but I have faith in our new friend.” 

Mrs. Crowan came in and confirmed Madie’ s opinion. 
“She is real nice, I know; I must have something made in 


336 


jack’s afire, 


style, right away. I’ve gone looking shabby long enough. 

I never have heard anything against her, and that is in the 
favor of any woman alone in the world ! If I had heard 
it, I shouldn’t have believed it. No use in getting at it 
and telling of every blamed thing you hear. It always 
makes me mad to listen to a whole lot of gabbling folks. 
They ain’t so valuable as geese, for they never will be a 
comfort to anyone, no matter how fine their feathers are. 
Unless a person is wanting in all finer feeling, he ain’t a 
going to find fault with anyone, before a friend, and un- 
less he’s malicious, he won’t before a foe.” Mrs. Crowan 
had gone right on with her line of thought until she 
reached the end. 

Madie had received a popular novel, and had reviewed 
it. On this Sabbath afternoon she read it aloud. “ You 
have read it already, and it will be tiresome for you to 
read it again,” said Miss Eipley. 

“ I shall enjoy it just as well this time; for all the time 
I shall be thinking how it will please you. I take books 
as a sort of appetizer for my writing. I may gather a 
kernel from one that will spring into an idea and ‘ bear an 
hundred fold.’ ” 

Lilian laughed. “Then it will be charitable for us to 
let you go on.” She nestled in an easy chair to listen. 

Madie read until evening. The book and the day were 
finished together. The reader turned to her new friend, 
“Miss Lilian, you will leave us to-morrow; but remember 
that we all like you and will be glad for you to come back. 
I wondered, yesterday, if you knew how nice it was for us 
to come home and find you here!” The hands met in a 
warm, strong clasp, and another friend was added to the 
list of each. 

A grand, mass meeting was held in the Court Yard, 
when the after-glow of October with its sweet, sad lights 
was adorning the world. Madie lield the pencil idly and 
watched the crowd ; though looking at all, there were many 
faces that she did not see. As the band began playing, and 
the people waved hats and voices in a mighty huzza! she 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH 


337 


came back to reality, and saw men whose names had been 
household words in the homes of the nation. It was dif- 
ficult to curb her own enthusiasm and take down those 
speeches for the benefit of the Headlight readers. When 
one particularly eloquent sentence went out to that vast 
audience, from the lips of a man who had stood for twenty 
years on the floor of Congress, and spoken for principle, 
she dropped her pencil and cheered involuntarily. 

She was surprised, on her way to the office, to see men, 
who were to cast their vote at the coming November elec- 
tion, leaning idly over bars, or sauntering leisurely along 
the street. “ They haven’t been to hear those speeches; I 
am actually ashamed for them!” 

Mrs. Crowan came into the editorial room. “ Liked it, 
didn’t you ? ” she asked briskly. “ Of course you did 1 ” she 
went on without waiting for a reply. “ I was wedged 
against the pillars and stood on one foot, but I never 
thought of being tired. How is your father?” 

“Very much better when mamma wrote last.” 

“ I believe he will get as well and strong as ever. Is 
Miss Kipley at your house ? ” 

“ No; she went back to her room, Monday.” 

“ I am going to take her home with me. I have got 
plenty of work ready for her.” Madie directed her to 
Lilian and went back to her work. 

“I wonder what she is going to have made?” Aggie 
queried, half to herself and half to her friends. 

“She is just doing this through her broad kindness, to 
help Miss Lilian along,” said Christa confidently, and 
she was right. But out of this desire came an idea which 
developed into a plan, and the plan was finally completed. 

They were getting up a benefit for the family of a man 
who was injured on the railroad. The committee visited 
our editors. Madie took out her purse. “ I will give all I 
can, but I fear it will not be a very great help.” 

“ Very kind of you, I am sure,” said one of the ladies 
with a bow and smile. 

“ I really expected more than that. I cannot see any 
22 


338 


jack’s afike, 


need of such penuriousness,” she said to her companions 
as they went down the stairs. Madie heard every word 
through the open transom. Christa saw her lips quiver. 

“Never mind, Madie; we can manage without her good 
opinion. We all appreciate you, and God knows that you 
are generous, and loving, and kind. This man’s daught- 
ers are as able to work as you or I. Mrs. Leith 
said last night that she ‘ did na see any use in their being 
so daft as to sit and greet owre their trouble, when 
they could just as weel gang to work and lessen it 
doon ! ’” 

“It is weak in me to care. I will try and not mind it 
any longer.” 

“I see the rainbow of promise in your eyes, now ! I 
am glad the clouds are breaking away.” Christa stooped 
and kissed her sister and went back to her work. She 
had a sadness of her own to conquer. Eobert had asked, 
a few evenings before: “How long are you going to keep 
me waiting?” 

“ I don’t know, Eobert,” she had answered. 

“ I am a patient man, but it is hard for me to see you 
working along day after day, and you will not accept 
assistance from me.” 

“ Eobert, do not blame me. You cannot understand, 
or you would not.” 

“ I understand, and love you all the more. I shall wait 
for you four years longer ; I have already waited three. 
When my ‘ seven years serving time ’ is ended you must 
promise to come to me.” 

“ Eobert, I will not bind you with any solemn promise. 
But if you care to come to me in four years, I will answer 
then.” 

She made a quick gesture as he stepped toward her. 
“You, do not know what my answer will be. I will not 
permit you to say anything more.” 

“ Eemember Christabel Burton, that it is not quite towj: 
years that I shall have to wait ; and I shall not be put off 
with either argument or pleadings, when the time es;- 
I. ‘.res.’’ 


OB, THE BUETON TOKCH. 


339 


He had not been at nome for several days, having been 
called away on business. 

“Christa is so solemn! I wonder if it is because of 
Robert’s absence,” Madie questioned herself, many times, 
in the days that followed. 

“ To-day has been just a cipher,” said the junior editor, 
throwing herself back on the couch, and speaking almost 
petulantly. “I have had no new ideas; no new work; 
arid no glamour of enthusiasm to freshen up the old work. 
I have worked to day, because the preceding days have 
taught me to do so. If I had never worked before, there 
would not have been originality enough, about either my- 
self or the day, to have caused me to start in this morning. 
It brought no impulses with it ; nothing to make it re- 
membered above other days. There had to come twenty- 
four hours between yesterday and to-morrow; and so this 
was thrown in. I believe I am like the day; simply 
placed here to fill up a vacuum.” 

“ I think that is all any of us are here for, to occupy 
our niche, and to carry out a single one of God’s ideas,” 
said Robert, coming in with Josie, who had been spending 
an hour at Mrs. Peyton’s. Christa had thought that 
perhaps Robert might discontinue his visits. The world 
was rose-colored again, when he entered and answered her 
thoughts in his strong, calm manner. 

Madie had been reading a letter from Jean Cragie. 
She smiled at Robert when he had spoken, and said: “ I 
should like to read a portion of my letter. I think that the 
jiews will be as gratifying to Christa as to myself: 

“ ‘ I know your time must be fully occupied, and I am 
going to make a proposal. I have found someone to fill 
my place here. I want to filid a quiet home for a year, 
and would like to come to you, to be one of you, and to do 
as you do. Let these four seasons ring their changes for 
us, all together.’ ” 

“She wrill be a grand addition to your home and staff.” 

“Yes, Robert; I fear we could not have continued alone 
much longer. Jean will know just what to do. This 
sudden desire for rest is prompted by her loving wish to 


340 


jack’s afire, 


help me. Papa and mamma must know of this. ” She 
gathered her writing material together, for a long visit 
with her parents, humming an old air as she did so. 
They had not seen her so happy for months. “ She will be 
here New Years. Only two months to wait,” she said, 
resting her pen for a moment, in its rapid progress over 
the paper. 

“I am glad, because you are glad,” said Robert, speak- 
ing only a part of his thoughts. “ I will be able to see 
more of Christa, if she is not so busy,” was his mental re- 
flection. 

Madie flnished her letter, and again began to speak of 
her friend. “ I can appear a great deal better and talk 
more easily before J ean than before any other except Christa 
and mamma, and possibly Phil and Ralph” — she stopped. 
How long a time it had been since she had mentioned the 
latter’s name before any but her own people! 

Christa gathered together the broken threads of her 
sister’s thoughts. “I like what ‘the country parson’ has 
written on this subject: 

“ ‘ When with people who think you clever and wise, you 
really are a good deal cleverer and wiser than usual; 
while with people who think you stupid and silly, you 
fliid yourself under a malign influence which tends to 
make you actually so for the time.’ ” 

“Thank you, for the quotation!” and Madie went to 
help her brothers with their lessons. Robert lingered 
for a good word with Christa. 

“ What is the programme for to-morrow ? ” the younger 
sister asked of the elder, when she joined her in the 
back parlor which was used as a study. 

“The county fair in the morning. Mamma's last letter 
to be published. A local for Lilian, who will be back in 
her rooms next weok. The general election notice and 
the programme of the teacher’s institute.” Christa put 
her hands to her ears. 

Bert looked up from his philosophy, where he was try- 
ing to study acoustics, finding it difficult to separate the 
theory from the practice around him. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


341 


“ You will have very little to fill yonr paper to-morrow, 
Mai. Would you like an original poem from me? ” 

“Herbert Burton your lessons must be attended to.” 
Madie assumed her teacher’s frown as she spoke. 

“I think I have them, Miss Madeline.” 

“ Yery well, stand and recite.” 

He gave his lesson with original variations and com- 
ments. “ I don’t think I have confined myself strictly to 
the text, but Prof Pearce wishes us to be independent of 
the printed matter.” 

“ You must adhere to the truth of the text at least,” 
she returned, as she handed the book back to him. 

Christa visited the fair in the morning, in company with 
Bobert and Aggie. The former never failed to get away 
from the bank on the day that Christa was away from the 
office. “ I don’t see any use in going to the fair every 
year. There is such a sameness about them. Squashes 
— mammoth, of course — and every other vegetable dis- 
played in its hughest dimensions. I never see such any- 
where but at our agricultural exhibitions, and I have won- 
dered if nature did not manufacture them for the occasion, 
just as women and girls work for months to make a fine 
display of fancy work,” said Christa. 

“And people have a regular fair look. There’s the man 
talking and performing with bees. Hear that crier for 
the side show ! I do not see how anything that is not run 
by steam can go on from morning until night as he does. 
And there is the advertising wagon of a theatrical troupe 
“every night, at the opera house.” Aggie paused for 
breath. 

“You haven’t mentioned the circular swing, nor the 
boothes, nor the peanut and lemonade stands.” 

“Because you didn’t give me time, Christa. That man 
is mad because he didn’t get a premium ; that woman is 
watching the judges, and they look as pompous as ever. 
I meet people that I haven’t seen for a long time; if I 
want to talk with them, I am prevented by the thought 
that they haven’t been through all the buildings, and I 


842 


jack’s afire, 

am trespassing on their time; this makes me stutter 
and stammer, and it takes me twice as long to say any- 
thing as it would if I were not in a hurry. All the 
time they stand on the bias as if they wanted to be polite, 
but really must leave.” 

“You and Christa had better write this up together. I 
am sure you will not omit anything then,” said Robert. 

“ ‘ Forty varieties of jelly,’” Christa reads from a card. 
“ That woman must have some originality about her. We 
will go to see the fine art exhibits. W e have not seen the 
feather, and wax, and hair fiowers, nor the rugs, nor ma- 
chine stitching, and ‘ye editor’ must be impartial. ‘A 
silk quilt, crazy -work, and four thousand pieces,’ by a 
woman who would have ‘ no time to avail herself of the 
right of franchise, if she were permitted to do so.’ This 
work proves that a few people in this western country 
have found something besides the ‘weary grind of toil.’ 
Our days are made up of odd pieces, like that quilt. 
Mine haven’t been put together with fancy stitches every 
time. Let us go and see the live stock, now.” Christa’s 
fund of humor seemed inexhaustible, and both she and 
Robert were quite happy. 

They visit the poultry, sheep and swine. “Look, there 
are hogs with auburn hair,” said Aggie. 

“Those are Jersey reds,” said her brother. 

“They look like a respectable hog badly scorched.’' 

They drive past stalls of sleek-looking cattle, ruminat- 
ing proudly — with a blue ribbon, or red, or white, or with 
none at all, it made no difference — they seemed equally 
aware of the attention given. “I would I were a Rosa 
Bonheur,” said Christa. 

“See those lovely horses! What an aristocratic nose 
that black one has ! Robert, if you love your sister, do 
not drive to see the mules. My enthusiasm will leave me.” 
Robert laughed and drove back to the track. 

“I cannot stop for more than one race; Madie will be 
waiting for my notes, I am afraid.” Their sympathies 
were largely drawn upon by the appearance of a blind 
horse upon the track. “ How I do want him to win, so 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


343 


that he can have some good times yet,” said Christa 
eagerly. 

He easily won the first heat, but did not have “bottom 
enough to hold out,” the jockeys said. 

“I am so sorry for him, that I have lost interest in 
the other races,” said Aggie. 

“Isn’t it awfully jolly?” Bert and Benjie ask, as they 
come to the carriage, fully enjoying their half holiday. 

“ — fully jolly,'* repeated Aggie, looking at them 
with a stern mouth, though her eyes were full of mis- 
chief. 

“Yes, indeed.” 

“Oh, boys, how you do mix up the English language.” 

“Aren’t you going to stay all the afternoon?” 

“No, boys; I must go back to Madie. She is all 
alone with her work, and Josie will be tired. She in- 
sisted that I should come ; I suppose because she thought 
I would enjoy it. It is easy to be selfish with her, for 
she never obtrudes her own interests and wishes upon any 
other.” 

“ She shall ride Leon to-night.” 

“I am afraid it would make her sad to have you offer 
him to her.” 

“I will try to offer him to her in such a way that it will 
neither make her sensitive nor sad.” 

Madie did accept the loan of the horse. “It made me 
feel sad, I acknowledge ; but Leon knows me still, and I 
could not refuse Eobert’s brotherly kindness.” She 
spoke unintentionally, and did not notice what she had 
said, until she saw Christa’s conscious and Kobert’s ex- 
ultant look. 


344 


jack’s afibe, 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII 

MBS. CBOWAN TAKES A TBIP. 

Mrs. Crowan had decided that she was going to take a 
trip. “I am bound to have my daughters go along. 
John can go next summer, after planting, and see his 
brother in Vermont, and that will take a good deal longer 
than it will for me to make my journey. I got my 
clothes made. I didn’t know until I had started in, just 
when I was coming out with that thought, but it’s going 
to take me beyond Chicago, for the clothes and I will all 
be older agin another year. I haven’t seen much to 
speak of. To be sure, we moved out here, but it would 
take the observinest kind of a person to get much pleas- 
ure under a covered wagon and a sunbonnet, especially if 
she’s behind a yoke of oxen, with a baby in her arms. 
The miles seemed to pull back away from us, and if I 
hadn’t had the oxen continually before me to teach me 
patience; John would never recall the trip with pleasure. 

“ I believe I’ll learn a good deal. Anyway, I am go- 
ing, and so be the girls. We shall visit a cousin of mine, 
but we sha’n’t stay there long. I ain’t a starting out with 
the idea of visiting anyone in particular. There is lots 
of folks in this world that I never expect to call by name, 
but I’d like to see some of the faces that are looking out 
toward eternity the same century I am. My clothes is 
fixed so they won’t make folks laugh, and then again they 
ain’t fixed up so fancy that they will have to inconven- 
ience themselves in turning around to see how thev are 
made. 

“Mattie and Alice are like their father, sensible and 
quiet, so I guess we will get along. I never rode on the 
cars in my life; but other folks have done jt, and — like 
everything else — some have lived through it and some 
linven’t, and I am going to try it. To live in 'an- age of 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


345 


improvements and not profit by ’em is a kind of thank- 
less way to do, I think.” 

Madie, Christa, Aggie and Kobert urged her not to 
abandon her project, and each sent many a pleasant wish 
along with her. 

She was a positive entertainment to the people around 
her. Nothing escaped her eye. Although she made no 
remarks to any save her daughters, those in the seats near, 
heard and were interested. 

“ I want to get some souvenirs from the city and lake,” 
said Mattie. 

“ I’m getting them all the time, and learning lots of 
lessons besides. There’s a better lesson in patience than 
the one I learned from our oxen. See that man! His 
face is about as pleasant to look at as a cross-cut saw, and 
that wife of his is actually smiling after living all these 
years with him ! She either has wonderful control of her 
feelings or else she hasn’t got any to control, but there is 
too much in her face to make me believe that the last is 
true.” 

A woman directly in front of her sat for a hundred 
miles and never turned her face toward the window. 
“There would be small satisfaction in making a world, if 
everybody paid as little attention to it as she does!” 

We will give her “Thinks” on this journey as they 
appeared in the Headlight : 

“ I have been traveling, and presume I shall be for 
days yet, though I am at home again. I never knew how 
much joy and sorrow, love and hate, and dread and ex- 
pectation, in fact, how much of real life could be crowded 
into a few days, until I took a trip on a railroad train. I 
feel that I thoroughly understand the political situation, 
because the man across the aisle seemed to be rehearsing 
for a campaign speech. 

People work awful hard to rest and have a good time. 
There was a couple on the train that had been hunting 
for enjoyment ever since they left California, and the poor 
things hadn’t found it yet, but they still had a determined 
look. The woman told me that they were out for pleas- 


346 


Jack’s afire, 


ure. I didn’t say nothing, but I thought that if I had 
got out as far as they had, I should begin to want to 
see a little. She said, too, that they was going to Hell 
Gate. I wasn’t such a fool that I didn’t know what she 
meant, but I wanted to say that I should think she would 
be more apt to find pleasure if she went back to the gate 
she started from. If they had been a mind to, they could 
have found real, solid comfort in every car they got into. 

Some of the folks fidgetted, and laid down, and sat 
up, and acted as if the conductor had come aboard that 
train on purpose to have a visit with them. Some trusted 
to luck, and they were the happiest. 

The rose and the thorn gatherers were well repre- 
sented. I like to say a good word for the thorns. If 
they are kind of sharp, they often amount to the most. 
Folks ain’t like roses — they ain’t made just to look at. 
I’ve been real glad lots of times that I had my polonay made 
plain. I tried to pick out a friend, and I found one ; a 
real nice old lady. She was pleasant to everyone. I 
know she had felt the need of kindness sometime herself. 
When I pick a friend I want one that has felt pain. I 
don’t care for any novice in suffering to listen to my 
trials. 

But I didn’t give all my attention to my traveling 
companions. The world came toward me so fast that I 
could not take my eyes from the window, for long at a 
time. It seemed to me that the world grew broader every 
minute. I don’t wonder that folks used to think it was 
flat, when they could only travel so slowly, and it kept 
widening out as they went along. 

AVe saw laborers in the fields who stopped and looked 
at the train, then turned to the plow or whatever work 
they was a doing, and I thought how many times I had 
been working hard and seen folks pleasuring and said: 
‘AVell, one half of the world works and the other half 
plays.’ Now here I am enjoying the other half! I shall 
swing back into work again, but I shall always, remember. 
the glad feeling I had when the rope swung out the other 
way, and I was free from care for a while. I was 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


347 


bound not to worry about anything and lived out a straight 
happy thought from childhood until now. The power of 
speech left me and I didn’t hear a word around me, nor I 
was not hungry. I had just two senses, seeing and feel- 
ing ; one for the body and the other for the soul. The 
train stopped at a little lake, with a wicked name and an 
imperishable wall; where the pine trees stood up tall, 
and stately, and grim, and some poplar trees were still 
hanging on to their leaves and dancing and bending in 
the breeze, when the season had already given notice 
for ’em to quit. I didn’t care to eat my luncheon, then ; so 
I just climbed upon the gray rocks and sat down and 
buried myself under a cover of thick thought. Way up 
on the rocks a figure would come out and stand motion- 
less for a while, and I knew there must be a party of ’em 
somewhere; they would get together again and then sep- 
arate. Just as I was beginning to have a real nice time in 
the silence, the train whistled and I had to leave. 

We reached Chicago in a few hours. The noise both- 
ered me and I walked so slow that I got in everybody’s 
way ; but I got as lively as any of ’em before I had been 
there long. We went to the parks, and the monuments, 
and the stores, and the lake. We was awful tired every 
night, but went a sight-seeing again in the morning. 
Everybody was just as good to us as could be. 

We went on down into the country and the rain beat 
against the windows all the way. I felt kind o’ shamed, 
when I got there,for all of us to go a cousinmg around in 
that way. But we concluded to make the best of it, so we 
took a bus and went right down there. I felt more foolish all 
the time! Jane met us at the door, and she just acted as if 
it was the nicest thing in the world to have three women 
come to visit her, and the best time for ’em to come was in 
the fall when it was raining just as hard as it could pour. 
I’ve been obliged toiler ever since. 

We went on to see another friend, and had to take a 
freight train coming back. It moved along so slowly ; at 
each station it backed up one track and down another ; I 
couldn’t se% any earthly reason why; only that it made 


848 


jack’s afire, 


kind of a show of business. Someway, that freight en- 
gine, backing up and down in such an aimless way, re- 
minded me of folks who have mistaken their calling, and 
are capable of better things than they are doing. Maybe it 
is because I don’t understand the motive of either. 

A young man, who was a passenger like ourselves, 
affected a careless indifference of all around him. At 
each depot he’d get off and sit on the platform, and 
didn’t seem to care whether he went on that train or an- 
other, and finally he did get left. There is so much slang 
used, now-a-days, that you can hardly express yourself 
briefly and not seem to use it, whether you mean to or 
not. 

The homeward trip was a bright one and we had a good 
time, being both glad to go and to return. It was all 
such a great, beautiful thing — this journey — and I 
thought to build a great big house of thought for my 
memory of it to dwell in, but here I have only the bare 
frame work! I can put no cornice of eloquence on it, 
nor twine no vines of poetry or fancy around it. It is a 
building that stands right out where I can see it all the 
days of my* life, if the reader can’t.” 

“Who was the handsomest man that you saw while 
you were away from home?” Aggie asked, mischiev- 
ously. 

“John Crowan, standing on the depot platform when 
the train steamed into Clayton,” was the prompt answer. 


OE, THE BUETON TOECH. 


349 


CHAPTEE XXXIX. 

GOOD WOEDS. 

“Oh, dear!” said Madie, with a sigh. “ Court sits to- 
morrow, and I positively dread it. I am perfectly willieg 
to publish the civil cases; but our readers, unless it 
someone who is especially interested, do not care to read 
those. They have a morbid curiosity for murder and 
scandal, and the slime and vileness of a criminal calendar. 

“I shall only give each a brief notice, unless it be some- 
thing that our readers will profit by reading, or in favor 
of a man’s innocence. The judge, jury and witnesses 
will know all, and the outside world what it seemeth best 
to tell them. 

“ I will not publish the proceedings of a suit that will 
cause any honest wife, mother, sister or friend to blush as 
she reads it. When ladies are ordered to leave a court- 
room before a testimony is given, I do not propose to 
serve it up to them in our evening paper, to pollute their 
own homes.” 

So these cases were only casually mentioned, while others 
were carried out in full. 

Clear and impartial, but leaning always to the side of 
mercy, the Headlight editorials gleamed out and lighted 
the track of Eight for miles ahead. The subscribers saw, 
and many appreciated. 

“One thing I notice about the Headlight^ it doesn’t 
jumble its headlines together. The editors do not put a 
death and a gambling raid in almost the same sentence. 
I picked up a paper the other day, and the headings read 
about in this style: 

‘A Jail Bied Escapes— A Pickpocket Captured — 
Our Nine Completely Done Up — Sentenced to Thirty 
Days in the ‘ Cooler’ — Gone to Dwell with the Angels 
—Comicalities, etc.’ 


350 


jack’s afire, 


“ It must have been soothing to the parents of that 
young lady to have seen her obituary classed in with 
rogues and criminals, and followed by slang witticisms ! ” 

The speaker was standing on the street, talking to a 
friend; a little woman in black tripped past, and nodded 
pleasantly to the gentleman who had been listening. 

“Who is that?” enquired the first gentleman. 

His friend laughed, “ ‘Not to know her, etc.,’ that is 
the managing editor of the paper that you have just been 
complimenting.” 

“ So young as that? ” 

“Yes; she can’t be more than twenty-four, or at the 
most twenty-five, years of age.” 

“I am astonished! ” 

“ You would be more surprised if you knew all that 
girl has done. She is more mature in thought than most 
men of thirty. Miss Burton has a real love for her work, 
is talented and energetic, and is as conscientious as only 
a true woman can be. Taking all this into consideration, 
can you see any good reason why she should not suc- 
ceed? ” 

“No, I think not.” 

“ Hai* father was thought to be in the first stages of 
consumption, and was ordered to the mountains ; his wife 
went with him, and the two eldest girls oversee the house 
and have charge of that paper.” 

“ Burton was a ^ound man. I knew him slightly. I 
presume he dictates a good many of the editorials now.” 
The best editorials, most of them written by Madie herself, 
were invariably attributed to her father or some gentle- 
man friend. 

Madie was ofteli hurt by the way some of her former 
schoolmates met her in society. They seemed to expect 
her to grow important with this new responsibility. 
“ Why won't they be friendly ? ” she asked of her sister. 
“ A snub is a very durable article, but I can see no use 
in giving one. I do not have any idea of it, myself. It 
is nice to change my route between home and the office. 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


351 


The walk is not so monotonous. I meet many people and 
get many new ideas, but the girls all act as if it were an 
effort to be friendly with me.” 

While Madie was talking, a young lady of the city was 
in conversation with Aggie Peyton upon the same subject. 
“ She acts as common as anyone, but she is spoken 
of and mentioned so much that I presume she feels as if 
she were my superior.” 

Aggie spoke quickly. “It is only the shallow minds 
and light-heads that are easily turned. Madie has too 
much common sense to be spoiled by a little flattery.” 

“ I almost agree with you. I used to like her very 
much, and she is doing a splendid work now. I wish I 
could help her. They are so busy that I always feel as 
if I were intruding. If she is as conscious of her noble 
efforts as other people are, I don’t see how she can help 
being vain.” 

‘Because she has the will and the brain to do the 
Avork, she has the solidity not to be giddy over it. If 
you want to be a real, friendly helper, why don’t you run 
right up into the office and talk, when they stop to rest 
for a minute, or go to the house some evening when their 
work is done? Don’t go for a call, but just for a friendly 
talk, and you will get it.” 

“ I Avill do so, Aggie. Your honest words of friend- 
ship havemade me wish to renew our old acquaintance.” 

When this young lady took the initiative others soon 
followed, and our girls were looking forward to a winter 
of pleasant social intercourse. 

A iieAV book, which was making quite a stir in the lit- 
erary world, Avas sent to Madie to review, through the ad- 
vice of her old employer. “I think that is quite a com- 
pliment to you,” said Christa; “you have a select list of 
new books to notice every Aveek or two.” 

Madie read the book carefully. The heroine was one 
of those odd, sensitive characters, a combination of many 
of the finer qualities of a woman and the courage and 
strength of a man. She had stood between her lover and 


352 


jack’s afire, 


danger a number of times, and ruled her coarse associates 
by the force of her superior intellect and will power. 

“Well, what do you think?” asked Christa, when she 
laid the book aside. 

“It is an interesting story. I believe, however, that a 
person would like such a woman better in a book than in 
real life, because in a book she is thoroughly explained, 
and before people she would be apt to be misunderstood.” 

“A novelist is a very daring person! He reveals se- 
cret thoughts and fancies as no other one could possibly 
do. I doubt if we could explain ourselves as a writer of 
fiction would explain us,” said Christa thoughtfully. 

“ And I presume these same writers of fictions could 
explain your motives and thoughts even more readily than 
they could their own, Christa. I cannot say that this 
book is true to life. It may be true to an exceptional 
life.” 

“How dare you criticise those authors as you do?” 
Miss Eipley asked. “I should hardly think myself ca- 
pable,” she added, with so much wonder and doubt in her 
voice that Madie knew she was not chiding her, but had 
really asked a question, the answer of which would be 
like a solution of a puzzling thought. 

“ I give my opinion, Lilian, because it is asked. I pre- 
fer to reach up instead of down, and in my criticism I 
take something better than I could do myself. If I did 
not I would be patronizing an inferior effort. We cannot 
expect a perfect work from an imperfect mortal.” 

“ I accept your reasons, my dear friend,” said Lilian. 
“I knew you would have some good ones. Mother is 
coming next week, and the thought of having her with 
me again makes me so happy that I cannot think of any- 
thing else for long at a time.” 

“Mother is coming next week!” That sentence 
haunted Madie all day in the office. “ How slowly the 
months creep along. But it will be better after Jean 
conies.” 

“We will busy ourselves in preparing a box for them,’' 
said Christa. 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


353 


“Oh, isn’t it too bad?” exclaimed Benjie; “we will 
have to split our Christmas in two again, and have half in 
Colorado and half here; I wonder when we can have a 
whole one? ” 

“Next year, I hope,” said Madie, bendiug over the 
box. J osie brought a picture-book, some cards, a whistle, 
and an armless doll: “ Them’s my presents for my own 
darling papa and mamma, and here’s some hazel nuts 
that the boys and I gathered at Mr. Cro wan’s last 
summer.” 

“Thank you, darling. Papa and mamma will both be 
glad to get your presents.” 

“I say, Madie, are you going to send doll and whistle 
just as she put them in? ” 

“Yes, Bert, they will be as pleased with those as any- 
thing we could send. She expects it, and I couldn’t 
disappoint her ; neither will I deceive her, and pretend to 
send what I have not. We will each write a letter, and 
you boys must see that the box goes to-day.” 

On Christmas they received a package containing a 
gift for each one, with “ mamma’s and papa’s love,” 
written on each. ' As Christa turned the leaves of her 
book a note fluttered to the floor. 

“May God bless all my dear ones! It seems selfish to 
stay away from you so long, but it is best. If I can 
bring your papa back to you, well and strong as he once 
was, we can smile at this absence, in the years to come, 
when we are all together, with no ‘ vacant chair ’ in our 
midst. I know you can spare both of us better for a 
year than you could one for all time. 

Your Loving Mamma.” 

And signed just below her name was: 

“ Your affectionate father, 

Frank Burton.” 

Written in the dear handwriting that the older children 
so well remembered. Mr. Burton had dictated many 
letters to his family and to the news2)aper, but had written 
very little himself, as the effort was wearying. 

23 


354 


JACK'S AFIRE, 


Dear papa,” said Christa, “ this is one of our best 
Christmas gifts.” 

Josie reached her chubby hands upward and pulled the 
letter down where she could see it. “ My stars ! so it is 
papa’s writing, just as nat’ chill as nat’ chill can be.” 

‘‘ You little roley-poley, as if you could remember,” said 
Benjie, laughing. 

“I most ashoredly do remember my own papa’s hand 
that he writed with hisself.” She was so satisfied with 
her knowledge and memory that they did not try to 
enlighten her further. 

Madie received a long letter from Ealph. She read it 
a second time before she gave any of its contents to the 
others. She looked up to meet Christa’s enquiring gaze. 
“He says that papa was quite poorly for a few days, but 
is better again ; that he will be glad to assist us in any 
way that he can. He is working hard, I should judge, 
from his letter; but here it is. Bead it yourself.” 

Christa noted one or two sentences that Madie had not 
spoken of; one: “ I get lonely and discouraged sometimes, 
Madie ; but I think of your grand work, and am ashamed 
of my weakness.” Another: “I should like to talk with all 
of you, and above all, there is much that I wish to say 
to you. Please not to discontinue your friendly letters.” 

Madie had had a motive in handing the letter to 
Christa. “ I will see if she sees anything more than 
friendship in it; if she does, I think she will speak of 
it, and I shall then stop the correspondence.” 

Christa, however, made no comment, but silently re- 
turned the letter. 

Madie seeing that she was still to be left in the dark, 
asked timidly, “ Shall I answer the letter, Christa? ” 

“ Of course — why not? Your letters will be nice for 
him, and his for you. He is such an old friend, Madie! ” 

So the correspondence was continued as before. 

“ What a hypocrite I am,” thought Christa. 

“ How foolish I was to think Ealph was growing sen- 
timental,” commented Madie. She had no thought of 
displacing Douglas. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


855 


“ Now all men besides are to me but shadows, 

Douglas! Douglas! tender and true,” 

was the refrain oftenest on her lips. 

The year was rapidly leaving them, and in a few days 
the New Year was coming, bringing Jean Cfagie with 
it, to stay until its close. 


356 


jack’s afire. 


CHAPTEE XL. 

HAPPINESS PASSED AROUND. 

Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Burton and Carrie had talked 
it over, and decided in family conclave that, as Christmas 
was to be Carrie’s wedding day. Bay and Phil should not 
only be urged, but positively entreated, to come home and 
spend a few quiet weeks with them before that time. “ I 
wish Madie and Christa could be with me then, yet I know 
they cannot leave their home and work. I shall be mar- 
ried in church, but I am not going to have a grand recep- 
tion. I do want you boys to come home, that we may 
have the quiet home feeling altogether once more ; ” so 
Carrie wrote to each of her brothers. 

Bay came home the 1st of December. “ I shall go 
and see Phil and bring him back with me in a few days,” 
he announced the second morning after his arrival. “ If 
I should want to bring another friend with me, I could 
have that privilege, I suppose, couldn’t I,” he asked, hesi- 
tatingly. 

“ Of course, my boy. Bring her right along,” said his 
mother, with a loving smile. 

Bay laughed at her quick interpretation of his thoughts, 
and the afternoon found him en route for the city. 

Phil was busy as usual ; but he found time to tease his 
brother, and coax, and compliment him, as in the days 
when they were boys together. 

“ Bay, you can drive with me, and act as post while I 
am making my calls this morning.” 

“Thank you for the honor conferred! 1 think I shall 
visit our friends.” 

“ Do as you please. Bay, but you must prepare for a 
long talk to-night.” 

Phil had been unexpectedly called to that portion of 


on, THE BURTON TORCH. 


357 


the city where Miss Cragie boarded, and called to tell her 
of his brother’s visit. He had guessed at a correspond- 
ence between them, as he had not forgotten his brother’s 
admiration for her. Jean was not at all deceitful, and 
never appeared surprised at any information of Ray’s 
doings or whereabouts. Her evident etfort to appear un- 
concerned, when apprised by Phil of his brother’s near- 
ness, proved to the keen-eyed man that his suppositions 
had been correct. “ Glad I told her before he came upon 
her unawares ! She is a girl that would dislike to make 
any sudden betrayal of her feelings.” 

The door bell rang and Ray was ushered into the re- 
ception-room. During the two years’ correspondence, 
many frank, friendly letters had been written by both. In 
the past few months Ray’s letters had become more ten- 
der in their tone, and each felt that the other was more 
than a casual acquaintance. Ray had been thinking for 
months what he would say to this girl when he met her. 
How she would look at him and welcome him ! But the 
dream was not at all like the reality. He felt all his self- 
possession deserting him. 

“I meant to get away before he came,” thought Phil, 
pitying the embarrassment of each. 

“It is a beautiful morning,” said Ray. Then thought: 
“What an idiotic speech that was!” 

“For a polar bear or an esquimaux, but hardly for us, 
as it is 18 deg. below at present, I believe.” With a gay 
“ good morning,” Phil left them. 

I think Ray must have recovered from his diffidence, 
for he spent nearly all the morning with Miss Cragie, and 
was forced to exercise a large amount of self-denial to 
leave when he did. Yet he had not said that which was 
uppermost in his mind. 

“I thought I understood him, of all men; but I must 
have been mistaken. I shall be with Madie in a little 
while, and I am sure that I know her. Some people I 
fail to understand, not because their nature is too deep, 
but because it is not deep enough. I keep vibrating be- 
tween what they are and what I expect of them. I 


358 jack’s afire, 

hope Mr. Burton does not belong to this class,” mused 
Jean. 

On the whole, it had not been a satisfactory call. 

Bay was even more quiet than usual, and sat with his 
brother for nearly an hour that evening, never saying a 
word. 

“If it were not for you. Bay, I honestly believe this 
would be a lonely evening for me,” said Phil solemnly. 
“ If you wish to confide in me any more, please be as 
brief as possible; the hour is getting late.” 

No answer from Bay, who was apparently “at home in 
his own thoughts.” 

“I have thought of that before; I am sure of it, now,” 
Phil continued, looking into the glowing coals. 

“Did you shop any to-day? ” 

“No,” shortly. 

“ Speaks simple English, but not in the pleasantest 
manner. Did you have a pleasant call this morning ? ” 
making a foot rest of the stand. 

“Quite.” 

“ Well, that is an enthusiastic view of the case! I never 
call on Jean Cragie without enjoying it very much.” 

“You call often, I presume.” 

“Yes, I claim no better friend in the city.” Phil 
crossed his hands behind his head and looked at his 
brother through half closed lids. 

Bay at that moment was experiencing the first jealousy 
he had ever known. 

“ The man that wins Jean Cragie will get more than an 
equal, and he ought to be a very happy person,” said Phil, 
with a sigh meant to be both sentimental and forlorn. Bay 
stood motionless before the grate, still watching the coals, 
and seeing many bright visions in their warmth and light, 
but they were more unreal and shadowy than they had 
been. If Phil had not seen Miss Cragie’s conscious look 
that morning, and the meeting between her and Bay, he 
would not have teased his brother to-night. “ No use of 
their being so superlatively happy. I must mix up a 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


359 


liomeopathie dose of bitter with so much sweet. It isn’t 
good for anyone and I only give about the thirtieth tritu- 
ration. I am of the regular school, and am confident that 
it won’t hurt him. Musing aloud, he continued: ‘‘I went, 
not shopping but just looking with an eye single to a final 
purchase. The solitaires are lovely. By the way, have 
you ever noticed what a beautiful hand Jean Cragiehas?” 

“ I believe, Phil, if you have no objections, I shall re- 
tire.” 

“ No objections at all, Ray, but a little surprised and — 
well — I might say hurt, that you should not care to talk 
with me.” 

Ray paid no attention to the remark, and Phil, when he 
lighted the gas, was remorseful to see how troubled he 
looked. “What a contemptible thing it was, anyway ! I 
have been a poor Davidfor my Jonathan, but I will atone.” 

Lying beside his brother he resolved to make amends. 
“I have bothered him enough and it is better that he should 
rest to-night.” He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. 
“Ray.” 

“ Well?” 

“It isn’t well at all. I have been tormenting you.” 

“In what way ? ” 

“About Jean. We are simply good friends. If I 
really cared for a woman I should be brave enough to ask 
her if she cared for me.” 

“Perhaps she does.” 

“ Ray, you are a real smart man, but I am beginning to 
believe that you haven’t good, common sense,” 

Ray did not find it a difficult matter to understand this 
doubtful compliment, for he knew that back of it lay the 
hint of a great joy. “ Perhaps I may improve,” he said 
dryly. 

Miss Cragie received a second call from Ray, and was 
touched by his simple, manly avowal. “Jean, I have 
come to tell you that I love you. Will you be ‘ my ain 
Jean?”’ 

“ Yes,” she answered, as simply as he had asked her. 

“ I believe you’ll be ‘ leal and true, Jean.’ ” The girl, who 


300 


jack’s afire, 


had been homeless so long, found a haven in the great loyal 
heart she was leaning upon. We’ll baith walk thegither 
‘to the land o’ the leal,’ ” said Bay, with solemn tenderness. 

Such a scene is too sacred for us to intrude upon, so we 
leave them in their great joy, which, in its solemn intens- 
ity, is the nearest approach to a great sorrow. 

Phil was quick to notice Bay’s happy expression. 
“ The air of the city seems to agree with you.” 

“ I have made a purchase and a gift,” said Bay, irrele- 
vant of Phil’s remark. 

“ I can imagine what it was. I hope you didn’t give 
yourself away, too.” 

“Now, Phil, you are too bad.” 

“ I never have been fully appreciated by my own people. 
If I, in my zeal, overrate myself, the family are to blame 
for it. No one knows what I have suffered from unsym- 
pathizing relatives. It has been such hard work to keep 
cheerful, that I have just worn myself out, trying to make 
me have a nice time. How much I have done for you in 
this matter. Sung your praises to her, and got your 
(Courage up, so that you could ask the momentous question ! 
I feel as if I looked exactly like the old pictures of fairy 
god-mothers, in the nursery books. You’ll take her away^. 
If Carrie were not coming here to live, I should be en- 
tirely alone in the world with no amusement except Aunt 
Sarah.” 

Jean had promised to attend Carrie’s wedding. “But 
I shall not go with you. I want to stop and think it all 
over,” she said with a bright smile. 

“ I have ‘ thought it all over’ so many times, and I 
only wake to find the dream a reality more blessed still,” 
said Bay, smiling back at her. 

“ Will you go to the cemetery with us? I know Madie 
would like to have me go, before I go to her.” 

“Yes; I will go. But why need you go to her, Jean? 
I want you immediately.” 

“No, Bay; I have promised Madie, and am anxious to 
get out of the whirl and bustle of the city, and help her 
for a twelve month. Then you can come for me. You 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


361 


must go home witliout me, you and Pliil, and liave your 
unbroken family together for a few daj^s. You can ‘ pre- 
pare them for the worst’ as Phil says. And when ‘the 
worst’ comes they will not be surprised.” 

They went to the chapel, and out to the “narrow home” 
of Douglas McLean. The plain marble shaft with his 
name upon it, and beneath it chiseled in the pure surface: 

“Thy work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord.” 

Jean hung a wreath of evergreen, with white and 
scarlet berries intertwined, upon the monument. 

“ He must have been a very good, unselfish man to have 
given up all thought of self, and worked as he did,” said 
Bay. 

“He was,” said Jean briefly, as she turned away. 

Carrie Burton was going to marry Phil’s partner, a 
thorough-going, elderly man, domestic in his tastes, who 
had buried his wife a few years before, and had deeply 
mourned for her. He had never thought to ask another 
to fill the vacant place in his home. Phil’s sister,, quiet 
and sensible, had been the recipient of kindly attentions 
from him ever since her first visit to the city. Then he 
began to miss the pleasant smile and earnest words of 
the girl whose youth stood before him in vivid contrast 
to his own two score and ten years. 

“I never can call back those dead years, and she can not 
come toward me any faster ; there will always be a quarter 
of a century between us,” he reasoned, and tried vainly to 
forget her, and finally concluded to do the most sensible 
thing he could do under the circumstances — ask her 
opinion on the subject, and was happily surprised to find 
that she did not care for those vanished years, and she 
did care for him. 

When he learned that Phil wished to go home for a 
few days, but hesitated because of leaving him, he said, 
heartily: “Go on! I shall get along finely, and shall 
only come the day before. I should be in the way now. 
I shall soon have Carrie with me for always, so I can 


362 


jack’s afiee, 


afford to work alone for a few days longer. Miss Cragie 
and I will invade your domestic circle soon enough. I 
shall be pleased to escort her to your home.” So the 
brothers went home alone. 

Aunt Prue laughed and cried; this giving up of her 
daugher was a real grief to her. But she was happy in 
having “the children all at home” for a little while. 

“Carrie has always been a home girl. She will have a 
broad field for labor, with Dr. Gerald’s twin boys and the 
little girl. They are unusually good children, and I 
know she will get along nicely with them, unless the 
whole neighborhood try to help her; that always makes 
extra work. The Doctor is a sensible man, and thinks 
she is as near perfection as can be. So I feel as if my 
sister were going to a happy home.” Phil delivered this 
speech to his brother and parents, shortly after his arrival 
at home. 

Aunt Prue was as pleased with the announcement of 
Ray’s engagement as a mother could be expected to be 
when she hears that some other one is to stand first in 
her son’s affections. She remembered Miss Cragie. “I 
think she is a woman that we shall all love and admire 
as much in ten years from now as we do to-day.” Jean 
was received affectionately by the -whole family. 

The wedding passed off with the usual tears and smiles. 
The three children looked with admiration at their new 
mother. Phil’s face had lost its merry smile, and he con- 
gratulated his sister soberly. 

“It was proper for them to be married Christmas, for 
I never saw more of ‘ peace and good will ’ at any wed- 
ding,” said Jean. 

Phil had drawn Jean aside ere he took his departure. 
“Tell Madie and Christa that I am proud of them, and of 
the boys, too. In Aggie Peyton I think you will find a 
warm friend.” He was looking out of the window, as he 
spoke, and Miss Cragie could not catch the expression of 
his eye. “ Tell Madie that Aunt Sarah often quotes her 
as a marvel of wisdom, and says ‘my niece Madeline’ 
quite often. She is as ready to acknowledge success 


oil, THE BURTON TORCH. 363 

and denounce failure, as the world in which she 
moves.” 

“ I will give your messages; good-by, Phil,” said Jean. 

The little family, with Phil, returned to their home. 
In all that city there could be found no happier couple. 
Carrie’s house was a marvel of neatness, and she was 
content in the love of her husband and his little ones. 

Jean and Bay stayed a few days longer at the old 
home, and left together. They arrived in Clayton New 
Years Day. Madie and Christa gave both an enthusias- 
tic reception. 

“ It seems as if time were turned backward for a time, 
having you with us.” 

“For a whole year, Madie. Isn’t it grand?” asked 
Jean. 

But Madie had caught Ray’s expression as he looked 
at her friend, and she knew that these glances were only 
the preface to a story. Her voice was not quite as jubi- 
lant as before when she answered, “ Very grand, Jean.” 

When they were alone together Jean told of her plans 
for the future. 

“I guessed it,” said Madie; “you are going to leave 
your girlhood behind you. I cannot separate a sort of 
dead and gone feeling from the knowledge that a near 
friend is soon to enter matrimony. I shall have to give 
up my Jean, and, although I know Ray is a worthy man, 
I cannot rejoice quite yet. This is the point where our 
paths diverge, and they will grow wider and wider apart. 
Our interests have heretofore been girlish interests ; here- 
after they will run in different channels and will never be 
tributary to each other again.” 

“ Why, Madie, are you sorry? ” 

“ No, dear; I shall be glad for you to have a home and 
someone to love you as you deserve to be loved. It is 
going to be, and when the fact is firmly fixed upon my 
mind, I shall realize and accept.” 

Miss Cragie remembered her own feelings when she 
had heard of Madie’s engagement, and readily sympa- 
thized with her now. “ The ‘ going to be ’ is a year 


364 


jack’s afire, 


ahead. Remember that, Madie, and how grandly we are 
going to work together.” 

When Ray had gone, Jean took her position on tlie 
Headlight staff. “ I hate office work, but I do like re- 
porting. Madie enjoys the editorial work. So we Avill 
each have a pleasant niche to fill.” 

Christa had more time to devote to her own plans. 
“She is of great assistance to me, I can assure you,” Mr. 
Raynor cheerfully acknowledged. “I tell her that I want 
to plan a house for a family, and about how much I want 
it to cost ; and she usually says, ‘ Let me see where you are 
going to put it ; or, tell me a little about the tastes of the 
family.’ Then she goes to work and draws building and 
rooms in such an attractive way that they take every time.” 

In the spring Christa’s plan for the new church was 
accepted. 

“How do you do it? ” asked Aggie one day. 

“I draw my ideal building, and then I come down to 
reality, and make my architectural plans, and the reason 
I succeed is because I know our city, and its people, and 
their tastes and needs, better than someone in New York 
and Boston.” She was right in her statement, and had 
as many orders as she could fill. 

“ Madie, I wish you would go to the barn and look it 
over. I think we could rent it.” 

Madie, without a thought of the surprise awaiting her, 
complied with her sister’s request. Leon stood in his old 
stall, apparently feeling very much at home and gave a 
joyful whinny as she entered. The saddle and bridle 
were hanging near, while harness, cutter and phaeton 
were put back as if they had only been taken out for a 
house cleaning. Madie put up her arms to caress Leon, 
“ What does it mean, pet? I can’t understand it.” 

There was a slip of paper fastened to the halter; she 
unpinned it, and held in her hands a rude sketch of two 
girls, a torch in the hand of the smaller one, while the 
larger one was holding a brush in one hand and a saw in 
the other; underneath were the words, “From the archi- 
tect to the editor.” 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


365 


“Jack’s Afire!” called Christa from the doorway. 

Madie hugged and kissed both Leon and her sister. 
“Do I come in for a share?” asked Eobert. 

“For a share of my honest friendship and appreciation 
of your kindness,” said Madie extending her hand to him. 
“I believe I love all of you,” for the others had all gath- 
ered around Leon as the great center of attraction. “ This 
is such a grand, sweet surprise.” 

“ It is all Christa’s doings,” Eobert said, glad to do her 
homage. 

“You shall all have a ride this evening and Lilian, too; 
papa and mamma must know this, they will rejoice with 
us. Dear old Leon!” she said going back to the horse. 
“Christa, darling, how happy you have made me!” 

“ Miss Burton, are you aware that we have a paper to 
issue this evening?” 

“I am. Miss Cragie, and will immediately proceed to 
work.” 

“ Leon looks more happy and at home here than he ever 
did in our stables.” said Eobert. He and Christa were 
walking behind the rest of the gronp toward the house. 
“ I shall expect a gift from you, Christa; it is only three 
years now.” 

“ I haven’t time to talk this morning,” said Christa, run- 
ning into the house. 

Madie thought of the pleasure she was going to give to 
herself and Lilian all day. She insisted that Jean, Christa 
and Josie should go first. After they returned she drove 
to Miss Eipley’s room. Mrs. Eipley was entertaining an- 
other visitor when Madie went in, and sat down to wait 
for Lilian, who had not returned from her work. 

The child talked on. In answer to Mrs. Eipley’s ques- 
tion, she said: “No, this woman ain’t my own mother. 
My true mother was an awful nice mother ; I feel worser 
and worser all the time, most, and have to cry every day. 
Mother’s death was awful, but Bill’s going away was 
badder yet. They tell me I’m going to have consump- 
tion, but it is so awful I don’t want it. I’m just well 


366 


jack’s afire, 


enough, when I don’t have to carry up wood and water, but 
this mother says its thrifty to work and I mustn’t be shift- 
less.” 

Madie looked at the bent form and pinched face. 
“Would you like a ride?” 

“Yes, ma’am; but I can’t.” 

“ I will ask your mother.” She stepped lightly across 
the hall. 

“Yes; she can go, but she can’t stay long, for I have 
work that she’s got to do.” 

Madie took the plainly dressed child down to the car- 
riage and drove thi;ough the city, out to the fresh, bright 
country, where nature was busily employed getting her 
rooms ready for the spring trade. Carpets were all down, 
and the show windows were full of soft tints and delicate 
flowers. 

“'Everything is clothed but the oaks, and I presume the 
supply of green is exhausted, or they are slow in deciding.’ 
Miss Lilian said that last night, and I asked her where 
the rest of the green would come from, and she laughed and 
said: ‘Maybe with the birds, up from the south.’ ” 

“And you remembered it!” said Madie, surprised 
that the child should have noticed the fancy. “See! 
these upper rooms are many of them ‘to let ’ ” she said, 
pointing to the trees along the river. 

“ There’ll be a heap of ’em taken, I reckon, when the 
birds begin their movin’ on the flrst of May,” Susie an- 
swered back with a smile. “It’s awful pretty out here. 
Spring gets here so much quicker’ en it does in town.” 
The child drew a long breath as she spoke. 

“ Here I am astonished to hear her speak a word of 
sense. People treat children as if they had neither feel ^ 
ing nor common sense. I would like to make a plea for 
childhood, that would be heard and felt through all the 
land,” thought Madie. 

Susie’s face was absolutely childish as she went back 
to her loveless home. 

Lilian came down. “You are playing the good Samar- 
itan to-night, I am sure,” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


367 


“ I have tried to make the world brighter for ‘one of 
the least of these.’ ” 

“You are full of good deeds, Miss Madeline, and we 
all love you.” 

“ Then I am repaid.” 

Lilian broke into a sweet, happy carol, and Madie 
joined in. “ This has been a bright, happy day. Leon 
was given back to me this morning, and we have all 
enjoyed him to-night,” she said, when the song had ended. 

Lilian gave her a smile that was full of “thanks.” “You 
are welcome,” answered Madie, as she stopped for her 
friend to alight. “I shall come for your mother soon,” 
she promised, as she turned Leon homeward. 

“ Jean, I have something to propose.’ 

“I’m waiting to hear it.” 

“You will have a great deal of sewing to do. Will 
you let our little friend have it?” 

“I will, certainly. I was going to ask you about her, 
but you have anticipated me.” 

“It is really too bad that Madie cannot take care of 
all the ‘ poor, and halt, and blind,’ ” said Aggie. 

“ Someone will.” She thought of her letter from Ralph 
that day. “Your letters and papers bring me good 
cheer and courage. I am coming up this summer to see 
the busy workers.” She both looked forward to and 
dreaded his coming, she could scarcely tell why. 

They were expecting their parents, and eagerly and 
gladly went to work to set the house in order. “ I am so 
anxious to see them. Life is so short it seems as if loved 
ones ought not to be separated. There has never been 
a day nor an hour that I have not thought of them.” 

Brothers and sisters silently agreed with Madie. 

“Writing is a difficult task now, and letters seem so 
tame. I can read through all the words of their letters 
the weary waiting, the dreary homesickness, and the 
suffeiing papa has borne. But now we have only the one 
thought, ‘ they are coming home to us.’ ” 

Robert came in with a letter. He often brought up the 


368 


jack’s afire, 


late mail. “ From mamma,” said Christa. “ Madie, take 
it; I dread to open it somehow!” 

Madie read the brief letter: 

“My Dear Children: 

Papa tried to get well too fast, overdid, and has 
taken cold. The physician advised us not to go for 
another six months at least, but we were both so anxious. 
Perhaps I was more to blame than he. 

“We shall have to stay now, and it may be even longer 
than that. I know my darlings will all be disappointed, 
but remember that it is hard for us to bear the separation. 

“ Your Own Mamma.” 

They all cried together, but rallied to write a cheerful 
letter to those who were equally disappointed. 

“ He will never come back,” said Christa. 

“I am sure he will,” said Madie, bravely trying to 
cheer the others. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


369 


CHAPTEK XLI. 

AN EDITOR MAKES TWO BLUNDERS. 

“ And the poet, faithful and far-seeing, 

Sees alike in stars and flowers a part 
Of the self-same universal being, 

Which IS throbbing in his brain and heart.” 

— Longfellow. 

Lilian Eipley sat by the window, writing. A smile, sad 
and tender, was on her lips, and she wove it into the lit- 
tle rhyme she was penning. “ I wish I could tell 
whether it is all right or not. I will not send it to Miss 
Burton, for she will hate to refuse it if it is not fit to pub- 
lish, and I do not want her to feel obliged to print it for 
my sake. I will send it to the Messenger^ 

Her name was unknown to fame, and the editor, merely 
glancing at it, tossed it into the waste-basket. 

Timidly she essayed another, which shared the same 
fate. 

“ I thought he would surely publish that. Because it 
really seems to me as if it were as nice as many of the 
poems that I see in print.” Lilian was disappointed, but 
the blow was to come in the next morning’s issue. 

The editor of the Messenger affected great contempt 
for ‘ spring poetry,’ and in a brief editorial stated: “We 
do not care to have articles sent us for publication which 
are ‘ not poetry but prose run mad.’ We wonder how 
long our brain will stand the pressure ere we take refuge 
in some lunatic asylum? People often mistake their 
calling, but if one has a trade we advise a continuance of 
that work.” — He had noticed Lilian’s name on the paper 
she sent him, and connected it with the modest sign that 
he had often read farther dowui the street. — “Poets are 
getting to be quite common, and we are gradually failing 
to ajDpreciate them. Numbers overpower us.” 

Jean Cragie ran up to the pleasant roonij delicate as a 
21 


370 


jack’s afire, 


I 

part of Miss Kipley herself. The little dressmaker’s 
eyes were red and swollen. “What is the matter, Miss 
Lilian?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“If nothing made me feel badly, I’d try something 
else. I do not want to pry into your grief; but if I can 
come into it ^nd help you, I shall willingly do so.” 

Lilian’s tears fell fast upon the work she was doing. 
“I wrote out some thoughts of mine in two little poems. 
I thought they were rather pretty, so I sent them to the 
Messenger; first one, and in a little while another ; this 
is the article that appeared in this morning’s paper.” 

Miss Cragie read it. “ He is an old acquaintance of 
mine and I am almost ashamed of it to-night. He in- 
tended to be sarcastic, but he has only succeeded in being 
small and narrow. Why did you not send it to the 
HeadligM 

“Because I was afraid that Miss Burton would feel 
badly to be obliged to refuse them, lest she should hurt 
my feelings, and I wanted them to stand on their own 
merit.” 

“ Editors are not always just. Have you a copy of your 
poems ? ” Lilian brought them id her. “ I think they 
are good. W ill you let me take them to Madie ? Come your- 
self,” seeing that she hesitated. 

“ But she might not want to give her opinion before 
me.” 

“ Madie will be kind always, and because you are a 
woman like herself, struggling to make your own way in 
the world, she will be gentle. As she Avishes to give her 
readers the best she can find, she will be just.” 

“I will go with you.” 

Madie was glad to see the girl that she had from the 
first befriended. While Lilian was talking to Josie, who 
loved her dearly, Jean beckoned to her co-worker and briefly 
narrated the facts, handing her the Messenger and little 
songs. 

Madie read all three. “The Headlight willheiortmmte 
ia securing such gems to shine out in its columns Lib 


OK, THE BUKTON TORCH. • 


371 


ian, did you think I would imagine for a moment that you 
were forcing articles upon me? I can almost see the 
daisies in the meadow and hear the brook ripple along, 
and feel the sunshine, when I read these songs of spring.” 

“I wish someone would answer him” said Benjie in- 
dignantly. 

“Look at Madie,” whispered Christa. 

Jean looked. “I think we can safely i'\^pect an article 
in to-morrow night’s paper from our managing editor.” 

They were not at all disappointed, but the editor of the 
Messenger was somewhat surprised. “ This is the second 
sermon she has preached to me.” 

Madie was indignant at the thrust made at Lilian — or- 
dering her to sew and not to write. ‘ ‘ If he had not said that, 
I should have published her ooems and made no com 
ments.” 

She gave the first poem Lilian had written, and in 
another column an editorial on spring poetry, beginning 
with a quotation from Jeaningelow: 

“ ‘ What change has made the pasture sweet, 

And reached the daisies at my feet, 

And clouds that wear a golden hem? 

This lovely world, the hills, the sward. 

They all look fresh as if our Lord 
But yesterday had finished them,’ 

During these rare May days, there is so much of 
poetry and rhythmical melody in the air, that it is small 
wonder that we have it translated into words by many 
would-be poets. But we ask, how can one cease dream- 
ing when nature’s blossoms upspringing 

‘ Do paint the meadows with delight? * 

or, how can one cease writing and talking of the weather 
when there is as much of it as on these balmy spring 
days ? 

Now, while we sympathize with ‘ ye editor,’ we would 
like to say a few words in favor of the much-abused spring 
poet, knowing full well that it will be gratefully re- 
ceived; for, 

‘ Ne’er, 

Was flattery lost on poet’s ear; 

A simple race; they waste their toil, 

For the vain tribute of a smile,' 


872 


jack’s afike, 


When the ‘ lilies of the field ’ are rivaling ‘ Solomon in 
all his glory ’ it is difficult to keep from ‘ considering ’ them. 

The average spring poet should, of his pages of gush 
over nature, possibly publish a single line, and in many 
instances ’twere better if he could exclaim with Canning : 

‘ story ! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir.’ 

Yet this class of people is not so deserving of our pity 
as ‘ the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba and 
cry: ‘’Tis all barren!’ 

May and June are to the year what the Sabbath is lo 
the week — a season of restful, beautiful quiet, in which 

‘ To look through nature up to nature’sJGod.’; 

One cannot refrain from a fancy now and then. Many 
times during the past week we have turned from our 
labors and gone down under the whispering branches, 
sending more than one wish, winged to an idea, way out into 
the beauty and freshness about us, and waited patiently 
for them to return with a new song to sing, but we were 
reminded of the Irishman’s grandmother, ‘who went up- 
stairs nineteen times a day, and never came down again,’ 
as only the quiet of wood and prairie was around us. 

We sometimes wonder if these aspiring poets are sur- 
rounded by silence ; or, do they hear the whisperings of 
nature? If there were no ear to catch these ghosts of 
melody, where would be your theory of sound ? 

The world is prosaic enough to many of us. We feel 
like cultivating a love for the beautiful at anytime or any- 
where, and hope it ‘may never pass into nothingness.’ 

Khapsodize on, oh, poets, and fill the waste-basket, or 
there would be no need of one. But remember that your 
version of Nature’s grand symphonies should not be too 
often inflicted on the public. Poems should be more val- 
uable than leaves in June, and therefore not as numerous. 
A green leaf is natural and will grow to maturity, but a 
green poem will rapidly wither and die. 

We can feel the teachings of nature about us, though 
they float forever, unlettered through our brain, they are 
none the less lessons, and many a noble poet has not 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


373 


deemed their teachings unworthy of his pen. As to every 
year there comes a spring, so to every spring there comes 
someone to interpret Nature’s moods, or why should she 
have any ? 

Spring doesn’t come, or Nature doesn’t come, to the city. 
She stops outside in the quiet country, where she can do 
her work unmolested, and the birds sing their glad songs 
all day. We know that we have a few trees, and a park, and 
a grass plot here, but it isn’t Nature any more than a sam- 
ple of moire from Field & Leiter’s is a ‘ ioilet de visite.’’ 

Weeds should not be mistaken for flowers by the poet, 
and flowers should not be thrown aside as a weed, by the 
editor. We have spoken especially for those who are rid- 
ing ‘Pegasus with a side saddle.’ School girls, be wary 
of his shying ; if you are thrown by the v/ayside, modern 
chivalry, though it condole with you over your bruises, 
will not put forth a hand to assist you to mount again. 

We would ask the editor to be pitiful over their failures. 
Many a birdling essays to use its wings too soon, but if it 
be true to its bird instinct, it will fly as the season grows 
older. So put it back, tenderly and carefully, in the nest. 

We submit two fragments, each from a woman’s pen, 
thinking that the surest blow to any aspiration is to see 
or hear something better than one can do himself. The 
slender fingers who penned the following lines did the 
work more acceptably than he who croaks of spring 
poetry, as though it were a scourge of the season. 

‘ I took the threads for my spinning, 

All of blue summer air, 

And a flickering ray of sunlight 
Was woven in here and there.’ 

—A. A. Procter. 

‘ The world has blossomed, blossomed, 

Gorgeous colors are unrolled. 

And the tulips in their splendor 
Seem a very Cloth of Gold. 

‘ Oh, in this month of blossoms, 

Heart, how can we be sad? 

Let us cease this selfish weeping, 

And with the world be glad; 

Let us leave the purple splendors 
Of the royal years behind. 

And feel, though the best has faded, 

Some good we yet may find.’ 

— Hattik Tyng Griswold.” 


374 


jack’s afire, 


When Madie went down to the street that night she 
was met by Mr. Eoby. “ Good evening, Miss Burton! I 
have just been reading your editorial and the little gem 
of a poem that you published to-day. You can’t get the 
class of poetry we do, or you would not be so merciful to 
the writers. That poem I read in your paper was fine.” 

“You will find a/ac simile in your waste-basket, if you 
have not destroyed your papers in the last week,” said 
Madie. 

The editor looked surprised. “How do you know? ” 

“ The author told me, herself.” 

“ Miss Eipley 1 ” he ejaculated. “I had quite forgotten 
the name. In fact I did not notice who wrote the first 
poem ; I didn’t read it, and only noticed her name signed 
to the last. Now don’t say it wasn’t right ; I feel ashamed 
of it myself, but if you go to blaming me, the spirit of con- 
trariety is so great that I will begin to hunt around for 
excuses. Please acknowledge that we do get ever so much 
trash.” 

“We do, and publish a great deal, too. I know 
Miss Eipley, and she is as sweet and fair as her poems 
would indicate.” 

“I shall watch for her fancies after this. You have not 
‘all rights reserved’ in regard to her writing, have you?” 

“ No, I am willing to share with you; I fail to discover 
any great degree of wit or wisdom in the dissensions of 
either editors or lawyers.” 

“We can’t quarrel with you.” 

“Then you should be grateful to me for helping you 
keep your temper.” 

“We have several poets in Clayton now,” he said, al- 
most sorrowfully. 

Madie laughed. “Why not poets to every town, as 
well as teachers, preachers, lawyers and editors? We 
used to have to go a long way for goods and have only one 
or two dresses a year. Now we have a number and the 
shops keep everything. 

“Every class and variety are more fully represented; 
perhaps all are not as nice as they used to be, but some are. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


375 


and the question of supply and demand will regulate 
everything. Let me give you a verse to remember,” said 
Madie, coming to her own gate. 

“A motto for all? Well, go on.” 

“I will only give you the first stanza, but I Avish all 
could read and remember Miss Proctor’s ^Golden Wordsd 

‘Some words are played on golden strings, 

Which I so highly rate, 

I cannot bear for meaner things, 

Their sounds to desecrate.’ ” 

“ Something to think of. Thank you. Good night, sis- 
ter editor,” he said. “ I am glad she belongs to the fra- 
ternity,” he thought, as he hurried on to his own home, 
where his mother presided over his bachelor quarters. 

Lilian sang and fluttered around the room, then stopped 
to read her poem aloud to her mother, in her sweet voice. 
“Mother, would you think me vain if I were to say that I 
think this poem is pretty? ” 

“I do not think I would; I never do when you have 
finished off a dress to suit you.” 

“I like this better than any dress I ever made.” She 
leaned out of the windoAv into the soft night air, and was 
so happy that her song had been published. 

A note came to her from the editor of the Messenger, 
frankly acknowledging his error, and asking her to bring 
up something from her pen. “Isn’t that nice, mother? 
Of course I will try.” 

Mr. Roby was usually a stern man. Seldom friendly 
with anyone, Madie was the only person, save his 
mother, with whom he had been more than “ bnsinessly 
polite” — as Aggie Peyton termed it — for years. 

A few days after his conversation with Madie, a little 
girl, with pansy-purple eyes, came to his sanctum. He 
turned abruptly. “ What’s wanted? ” The tone was so 
different from the note she had received, that she turned 
from him. 

“ I wished to seethe editor,” she said timidly. 

“Turn this way then! I have that honor. What will 
you have?” 


376 


jack’s afire, 


“Nothing,” — moving slowly toward the door. Her 
hesitating gait aroused his pity. 

“ I was a bear when I lived on earth before, and I 
sometimes growl now, but I never tear children or small 
young ladies to pieces. You came up to ‘ see the editor!' 
What do you think of him? Did you come through 
curiosity or on business?” Something in his tone re- 
assured her. 

“ I received a note from you a few days ago and it 
made me so glad.” 

“ Horrors !” thought the editor. “I hope it wasn’t a 
love letter. She is evidently mistaken in the person. A 
breach of promise suit would be awful at my time of 
life!” 

“ It made me very happy, because I often get tired of 
sewing, and wish to do something else.” She was so 
eager that she did not notice his blank look. “I didn’t 
like you at all at first, but I do now. I came to tell you 
that I would accept your offer.” 

“ She’s bound to have me, and I might as well sur- 
render. I have been thinking seriously of Miss Burton, 
but I can’t say no to this little woman. When is it to be?” 
he asked aloud. 

“Whenever you want it. I came myself to-day ; mother 
thought it best. Miss Cragie and Miss Burton said they 
were willing; they thought it better for me, too.” 

“I wonder if all the women in town have conspired 
against me in this way ? ” 

“Mother and I are all alone, and I sew to take care of 
us. I thought from what you said at first that you 
thought it was not right for me to try to do anything 
else.” 

He only heard the first part of this speech. “I am in for 
it, and will have to take care of the whole family. I won- 
der if the old lady will be meddlesome? After this I’ll see 
that no young lady gets in to ‘ see the editor ! ’ This is 
carrying woman’s independence too far.” 

“Would you look at it now, please? ” She handed him 
a roll of paper. 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


377 


He took it, mechanically. “It can’t be the license.” 
In a peculiar running hand he saw a little poem, “ The 
Eobin’s Lesson.” “ You are Lilian Eipley!” 

“Why, yes; didn’t you know? I was so confused I 
forgot to tell you.” 

“ I find this in every way suited to our columns.” He 
walked down to the door with her, and, coming back, sat 
down in his easy chair. “Well, I declare; freedom seems 
all the nicer after ten minutes of bondage! What a con- 
ceited prig she would think me if she had read my 
thoughts 1 ” 


378 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XLII. 

OBJECT LESSONS IN GEOGRAPHY. 

Mattie Crowan had decided to teach. She had at- 
tended the examination, and received her certificate. Her 
father, mother and sister were as pleased with her success 
as she herself. 

“I hope I shall be a success,” she said. 

“Hope and work, too, and you’ll be one,” her mother said. 

“ They are going to have a great teachers’ meeting. All 
the principal educators of the state, and a number from 
abroad, will be there. I ought to go, I suppose.” 

“ Of course you had, Mattie.” 

“ But, mother, I do hate to go alone.” 

“ Then Alice and I will go with you. I can’t get John 
to go anywhere since he got back from Vermont. He 
says he saw enough to last him for one while.” 

Mrs. Crowan enjoyed it as she enjoyed everything. 
She was very much surprised when, toward the close of 
the meeting, the President announced: 

“ Moral Influence of Teacher and Pupil, by Prof. Mills 
of Colorado.” 

Ealph had arrived on the noon train, and the first they 
knew of his coming, he stood before them. The pro- 
gramme had been printed, with his name omitted, through 
his own request. “I am not sure that I can be there,” 
was the excuse he had given the committee. Miss Cragie 
was rejjorting, so Madie was not there to hear. 

“ He is at home on that subject. I can get his MS., so 
I will not take notes. I am anxious to study the man.” 
Jean accordingly laid aside her pencil and watched the 
reader. 

“ Tell me all about it, Lizy,” said John Crowan, as 
they were going home. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


379 


“ It was real good. There were teachers and teachers; 
pretty, homely, large, small, young and old; just about 
such a mixed up crowd as you see at all such gatherings. 
Some of ’em carry their years of work in their faces, and 
some look as placid as can be. Some, just starting out, 
look as if they were going flower-gathering. Such folks 
generally gather weeds, for they ain’t apt to look any too 
close. It made me begin to realize how full the world is 
to see all them girls. They can’t all get schools for good 
wages. They’ll either have to marry or teach school for 
nothing, and board around. Part of ’em didn’t appear to 
advantage; they was so frightened; and others wasn’t 
dashed at anything. 

“They had a general discussion after each paper” — 
lowering her voice so Mattie could not hear. “The pro- 
fessor asked Mattie a question, and she answered it as 
well as any of ’em. I tried not to look a bit proud; but 
I just had to bite my lips to keep from smiling. She’ll 
do, you’ll find.” 

“ Of course she will, Lizy.” 

“After Ealph Mills’ essay, I didn’t want to hear noth- 
ing else. I wanted ’em to take that as a benediction and 
be dismissed. It made me love the whole world — that 
paper of his did. And something in his voice and face 
kept a saying, ‘these thoughts are mine always; I didn’t 
make ’em up for this occasion.’ But a man got up and 
talked, and he used every big word I ever heard of, ex- 
cept idiosyncrasy and juxtaposition, and I wanted to 
whisper them to him, for I knew he didn’t calculate to 
miss anything.” 

Ealph and Madie drove to Mr. Crowan’s one evening. 
“You were at the teachers’ meeting?” said Madie. 

‘•Yes, and all last week, while picking cherries and put- 
ting them up, and doing the thousand and one things 
that are necessary to do, on this farm at any rate, I 
thought of the crowd and the talks, but most of all, of your 
paper.” 


380 


jack’s afire, 


really pleased with the judgment of this shrewd woman. 

“ I’ve mixed up ironing and Agassiz, baking and Pesta- 
lozzi, and cherries and Froebel, and I can hear, above the 
splash of suds and the hum of the kettles, a cheering in 
my heart, as if encoring all the good things I heard. 
The seed sown then will keep me busy for days to come. 
I haven’t got near through the harvest yet ; the grain is 
all there, but part of it is lodged. It will be quite a 
while before I get it all bound, ready to stack away in 
Memory’s store house. You wasn’t there at all, was you, 
Madie?” 

“No, I was busy in the office both days; but go on, I am 
enjoying it now.” 

“ There was a good deal of style and dress, and lots of 
brains without any style. Every other man we met was 
a professor — begging your pardon, Mr. Mills ! ” 

“Nevermind me, Mrs. Crowan.” 

“They talk about having no titles in America, yet few 
men are now called plain Mister. In the Twentieth 
Century I suppose it will be Merchant Brown and Black- 
smith Green, or abbreviations that will mean the same. 
It is Doctor, Elder, Keverend, Professor, General and 
Honorable now, and it has got so that a man’s wife and 
family must call him by his title ; his given name ain’t 
used, and in a few years Mr. will be obsolete. I’ve 
branched off from the subject, but I guess I have told 
you all. The picture is there all right, but you need the 
shading to bring it out. 

“Speaking of pictures makes me think of Christa. It 
does beat all how that girl can take a pencil and draw a 
house, and fix it all up outside and in! I am glad to see 
her do it. She can plan a house just as well — according 
to my notions — as them men who make it their business to 
do such work, way down East. It does seem kind of funny 
for folks to send out a home as they would a spring bonnet, 
and people all waiting for the latest style in both of ’em. 

“I can’t say that I just like the houses of to-day; but 
they are all buildings that you notice. Houses used to 
look as if folks lived in ’em! They don’t always now. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


381 


Them ‘Queen Anne cottages’ — that would look just as 
curious to Queen Anne, if she could see ’em to-day, as they 
do to us — look to me kind o’ deformed, and inside each 
one is all scarred up with a dado, frieze, fresco, and mercy 
knows what! I wouldn’t care for such a room to sit and 
rest in.” 

“Everything changes, you know,” said Ralph. 

“ Yes, I do know. Eight yards used to make a dress, 
but it takes twenty now. I believe it is kind of an injury to 
the mind to have to change it in regard to yourself and your 
house, every time the fashion changes. There’s Mattie’s 
classmate, that she sets so much store by — a real nice 
girl, only warped a little by fashion — last summer when 
she was out here, all her dresses was made with a train. 
She said she ‘couldn’t endure the sight of a short dress.’ 
This summer she had had ’em all cut off, because ‘ the very 
best people are not wearing long dresses. I think myself 
that short dresses are real sensible.’ I just said: ‘Nellie, 
if the maples and poplars and tulips would shift around 
like that, our old Mother Nature would have her hands 
full.’ 

Overskirts and basques on folks! Domes, gothics and 
porticoes on houses. Homes, clothes and dishes get in 
style and out just as fast as they can.” 

“It does tire one to think of it all,” said Madie. “ Come 
and see us while Ralph is here.” Ralph seconded the in- 
vitation. 

“ Well, we will if we can. I’ve talked a good deal 
more than I intended. I never would have made a good 
minister.” 

“ AVhy,” asked Madie. 

“ Because, I couldn’t have preached a sermon, unless I 
had taken the whole Bible for my text. I run on so from 
one thing to another, and switch off onto so many side 
tracks. I want to take everything right along with me, and 
I get a pretty long mixed train before I reach the station, 
on the main line, that I started for.” 

The homeward trip was filled with reminiscences. “ I 
look back at the happy days of my childhood, and am 


382 jack’s afire, 

really vexed with myself, to think I did not enjoy them 
more at that time.” 

“I believe, Madie, that we realize sorrow more than joy. 
Grief is harder to bear in anticipation, or in the present; 
the retrospection is not so bad. In happiness the 
anticipation or memory is always brighte'r than the re- 
ality.” 

“ I think that is because we are not apt to think deeply 
when we are quite happy ; but a great sorrow leads us to 
think of everything. ” 

They were silent then, and Leon trotted along soberly, 
as if he, too, were thinking. Each knew by some subtle 
knowledge that there was a struggle going on in the heart 
of the other. 

‘‘ Tell me about Sada and Ned,” said Madie, eager to 
break the stillness. 

“ They are very happy in their home life. Madie re- 
sembles you. We all notice it. Ned is spoken of as the 
next candidate for Congress, but I do not think Sada 
really wants him to go. We have both been interested 
in politics since going West. We fought for principle 
for four years, and like to see the two go together, now, 
with not quite so much policy.” 

“ Sada does not write as often as she did at first. Mat- 
rimony often cancels correspondence between friends. I 
never should have thought in those old days that we could 
get along, as we do now, and only hear from each other 
once or twice during an entire season. Papa and mamma 
keep us posted. I am glad that they are so near each 
other.” 

“Friendship is a strong bond, but there is something 
stronger still.” Kalph laid his hand over Madie’s, in a 
protecting way, as he spoke. 

“We must drive faster, please. I shall have to do 
some extra work when I get home.” 

“ If you wish.” 

Madie knew he had meant to say more, 
brother, friend! I want nothing stronger 
any man than his friendship. I would far rather have 


“ Ralph, my 
■ better from 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


383 


your friendship than the love of any other. Knowing 
my life, you should be satisfied with that.” 

“ I will try, Madie, but I know it will be a vain effort.” 

She was careful that they should have no more long 
talks while he stayed. “ I will be true to Douglas,” she 
said firmly. “ I wish Ralph and Aggie would become 
interested in each other.” But the two were enjoying an 
eminently rational friendship. Robert Peyton was 
pleased to renew his intimacy with his old ‘ comrade in 
arms,’ and he and his sister planned, busily, for the en- 
joyment of all. 

Several clergymen, with their families, from the East, 
were camping near the lake, a few miles away, and held 
services every Sabbath during that warm July. Madie 
and Miss Cragie were acquainted with most of , them. 
The senior of the party invited them to attend the Sab- 
bath School and Sermon. “We do not want to have a 
Sunday picnic, but we would willingly welcome you and 
your friends.” 

“We will come and rest with you and with Nature,” 
said Madie. 

Robert and Ralph were agreed, and our friends drove 
out on the following Sabbath. 

“ Light and sound are in sympathy to-day,” said Ralph 
softly. “ The wood and river, and level pasture land be- 
yond, make a restful scene, and the devotion and praise 
make sweet sounds.” 

The lesson told of Uzzah and the Ark of the Covenant. 

“ No sacrilegious hand should touch it.” 

“ Who put it on the cart?” 

“I presume one of the high priests, but I do not think 
it states.” 

This question, asked by Miss Cragie, was answered by 
the senior clergyman, who was teaching the class. 

“Do you think Uzzah intended to disobey orders? It 
seems to me that such a motion might have been involun- 
tary, and that it would have been a very natural thing for 
anyone to do that which he did. The first query in most 
minds would be; ' Should he liRve withheld his hand and 


384 


jack’s afire, 


let it broken all to pieces ? ’ I am way out in deep water ; 
throw me a plank, please.” 

“The lesson is intended to teach strict obedience, no 
matter what comes. Uzzah’s faith should have been 
stronger than any impulse. The ark would not have fallen, 
as you well know. Miss Cragie, if you stop to consider 
that God never made a law to be destroyed. Christ came 
only to fulfill, and not to destroy. This lesson is appli- 
cable to ‘ye of little faith.’ Do you understand?” 

“ I do not think I shall sink, for I have reached shallow 
water, but I have not quite reached the shore.” 

“The ‘shore’ is beyond the Kiver! where the 

• ‘ Jasper walls are shadowless 

Around the Great White Throne.’ 

Are you content?” asked the teacher’s wife earnestly. 

“I do not think she can be, quite. The grandest thing 
I know to say of Heaven is: ‘We shall all be satisfied.’” 

“We will take that as the end of our lesson,” said the 
minister, smiling at Madie who had spoken. “ Let us oray.” 

In the twilight Madie opened the piano. “We play at 
this time every Sunday evening ; while papa and mamma, 
way off there, are listening. We are together, in thought, 
for a little while. We sing the old songs, for they bring 
memories with them that the new cannot.” 

Josie stood by Madie. “I want to sing alone, for I 
want them to hear me.” 

“What do you want to sing?” 

“I want to sing, first place, ‘There is a Happy Land.’” 

“Well,” and Madie struck the chords. Her version 
was not exactly like the one in the book, but no one had 
the heart to correct her. 

“Now I’ll finish up with ‘Bell My Home,'' because that 
is mamma’s name. But when in the chorus she saiiir: 

O 

Wait for me for heaven’s sake! 

Sweet Bell, my home,” 

the mirth of the entire group was aroused. 

“That picture is hung crooked. Isn’t it funny?” said 
Benjie, trying to find something to laugh at. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


885 


“It isn’t liuiig“ funny, not a bit! If I were in your 
place I should feel very ’shamed! You were laughing at 
me, and it is no way to do, not a tall! I shall stop sing- 
ing until my mamma comes back!” The indignant, 
grieved, baby face touched all. 

“You sang nicely, and I shall write and tell mamma 
all about it.” Madie coaxed her back to smiles and good 
humor; Josie never went far in the paths of ill-teni[)er, 
and was easily brought back. 

Though Madie had resolved to avoid Kalph, they had 
many a bright, earnest talk together. “ A conversation 
with him straightens many crooked thoughts and helps 
them to grow into a symmetrical passage, as a young 
tree is straightened by a stronger hand,” she confessed 
to herself. 

Mrs. Crowan and her daughters came in one evening. 
“I wish you’d look over the harness, Bert. There is 
something wrong, I am sure.” Her hair was in greater 
disorder than usual. 

“Did you have a runaway?” he asked. 

“No, a kickaway, coming down Bald Hill. We 
straightened things the best we could. Our hired man 
hitched up for us, and he doesn’t know what he’s about 
half the time.” 

“Absent-minded,” suggested Christa. 

“That’s it; chronic, too, I guess. I haven’t seen any 
symptoms of any since he’s been at our house.” 

“It is hereditary in some families,” said Aggie, laugh- 
ing. 

“Put the horse in the barn, Bert. We will have a 
nice evening all together; everyone is acquainted with 
every other one. Call Eobert and Ealph, Benjie,” said 
Christa. 

“ Our evenings at home are our rest hours, and we will 
make of this an extra vacation,” Madie said, as she took 
her visitors’ hats. They gathered together for a good visit. 

“Mrs. Beck is going to Europe. I almost envy her 
the trip.” 


25 


880 ) jack’s afire, 

‘‘ Why, Mattie, I never heard yon express any envy 
before,” said Aggie. 

“I am afraid I have felt that way several times,” she 
answered honestly. 

“Mrs. Beck will be able to describe her trip to us 
when she gets back. She is such a good conversation- 
alist. Her sister went two years ago, but she had noth- 
ing to tell, except that she saw a German Princess,” said 
Mrs. Crowan. 

“Was she the one who joined the Good Templars just 
before she went, and said ‘she Avas so sorry that she didn’t 
wait and join after she came back, because all over Europe 
they asked her to take wine, and laughed because she 
would not,”’ asked Christa. 

“Yes, she was the one. I believe it is the first instance 
that I ever kneAv of, where a person Avas sorry that she had 
done right too soon. I’ve often heard those mourn, 
Avho began to be good later than they ought to. She was 
true to her pledge, and that Avas honest ; but she ought 
not to have been ashamed of it.” 

“Did you read Lilian Kipley’s poem on Truth?” 
asked Robert. “It seems to me that chimes in with and 
answers this subject.” 

“Yes, Ave all read it; it was nice,” replied Alice. “I 
told mother, ‘ there’s another of your best quality, war- 
ranted not to wear rough.’ ” 

“When I look at her,” said Jean, “I think, if woman 
brought sin into the Avorld, she has redeemed herself, for 
to-day she brings goodness and gladness, too.” 

“Amen,” said Ralph reverently. He thought of an- 
other slender girl, avIio was Avorking Avith honor to her 
sex. 

“You go in as one of Prof. Pearce’s assistants this fall, 
do you not? ” Robert enquired of Mattie. 

“Yes; I shall try teaching for one year, anyway.” 

“ Mattie says that she knows she will like to teach 
arithmetic and grammar, but she cannot interest a class 
in geography.” 

“I can’t see its importance myself, mother. You can- 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


387 


not expect me to make a class see that which I cannot.” 

“You seemed to enjoy studying geography last fall 
when we took our journey.” 

“Yes, Alice. But that was entirely by the ‘obiect 
method.’ ” 

“I haye a great deal of respect for geography,” said 
Jean. 

“So haye I; if I could only make Mattie see how much 
there is meant in the definition, ‘to describe the earth.’ I 
don’t much like the idea of asking scholars, how many 
square miles there is in each state, or what direction 
New York is from every other city. But I would like to 
have them know that they study geography every time 
they look at a sunset, or go for a ride in the country, 
and that they will study it every day of their lives, as long 
as they live. 

“There isn’t much here below but what does come under 
the head of a ‘description of the earth upon which we 
live,’ shape, size, motion, products, people, politics, and 
religion. What else is there? History is the gossip, 
spelling, the puzzle ; reading, the art ; arithmetic, the meas- 
ured rule ; grammar, the prevailing fashion ; and writing 
is the general assistant in the common branches of learn- 
ing ; but geography reaches out, f aidher than any other, 
toward the infinite. We are studying political geog- 
raphy to-night, ‘Manners and customs of people.’ We’ll 
study the other divisions before to-morrow morn ” 

“I wish I had taken notes! ” said Madie merrily, when 
Mrs. Crowan had done speaking, “We would have had 
a whole column of pithy thoughts. I like to get hold of 
conversation to give to our readers, to get down to the 
bottom of it ; and to go from our home to theirs. An 
editor should understand human nature.” 

“ I think your paper is always real,” said Alice. 

“ If it isn’t we have failed in our intention.” 

“ Mr. Eoby said, ‘ your paper could not but be good, be- 
cause you were so true and good yourself ! ’ When a 
brother editor makes such an exceptional remark, ; 11 
should believe! ” said Ciirista, triumphantly. 


388 


jack’s afire, 


“ I have you and Jean to thank for the success.” 

“We will not accept it, Madie. You hold the editorial 
pencil,” said Jean. 

“ I am afraid my paper speaks better than I do. I can- 
not quite practice up to my theory.” ' 

“ Our faith is always a little in advance of our works. 
When the two are really united, perfection is reached.” 

“Thank you, Ralph; I think I understand.” 

“ If there is anything that is tiresome, it is a dressed- 
up picnic; but we are not going to have one. We are all 
going to the woods for to-day. Robert has planned it, 
and I am going to help him to carry it out. You can 
leave for one afternoon, I am sure. There is nothing to 
report to-day. If you want anything to fill up I will 
write a story on willowy grace, gliding footsteps, and 
eyelashes that sweep the cheek, although I do not ever 
remember seeing any of the three. I am willing to do 
anything if you will only go.” 

“ Aggie generally plunges into the middle of a subject 
and reaches back and pulls the rest after her. She gets 
through all right ; though I confess to hardly seeing how 
she does it.” 

“ There, Robert, you needn’t try to explain me, we are 
going gypsying; Lilian, and you folks, and we folks, and 
we will have a ‘ jolly time, and all take tea’ in the woods ! ” 

“ I don’t see ” Madie began, but Aggie put her hand 

over her lips. 

“ I have my opinion of people who never will take time 
to rest. We will not even take a croquet set, lest it be 
too much work to play.” 

“This is my last day; will you go, Madie? ” 

“When my work is done, Ralph. The others can go 
this morning.” 

“No, we are all going together early in the afternoon, 
I have decided; Robert has always been a very good 
brother and he shall not be frustrated in his plans. It 
will be nice to go to a picnic, where we are not obliged 
to taste of everybody’s cake, and tell them how good it is. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


389 


We will be just as foolish as we used to be when we 
played school with a dust-pan for a geography.” Aggie 
hurried home to make preparations for the excursion. 

Balph accompanied Madie to her work. “ I am sure I 
can help you this morning; I am determined to try, at 
least.” 

“Then I shall yield gracefully.” All worked so faith- 
fully that they were ready to leave at two o’clock. 

At Ralph’s request they went to the ground where they 
had celebrated on that 4th of July, so long ago. 

He found the very spot where Madie had saved himself 
and Josie. Youthful days gone forever,” he said. 

“ Please not to make the youthful friends as unreal,” 
said Madie gently. 

“My friendship isn’t real,” he returned quickly. 

“ I am sorry, for I desire it very much.” 

They had erected a swing under the grand, old oaks. 
“Come, let me swing you; I remember you used to like 
it,” he said, vexed at himself for making her sad. 

“I wish you would forget sometimes,” thought Madie, 
as she walked with him toward the swing. 

Josie met them, with her hands full of acorns. “Don’t 
rob yourself,” awed by her generosity, as she gave him all 
she had. • 

“I don’t like them a bit,” she answered. “You can 
have them.” 

He and Madie exchanged glances. 

“Do not say, ‘the way with the world;’ she wanted 
to do something to make your day bright, and these were 
all she could find,” said the older sister. 

Madie went way up to the higher branches and back 
again with such a rush. “I have left all care, and doubt, 
and weariness behind ; this is perfect rest and freedom,” 
she thought. “If I had not remembered that your arms 
were not proof against weariness, I could have swung all 
the afternoon.” ^ 

“I will swing you as long as you wish me to.” 

“You have; thank you, Ralph.” 

Aggie proposed that they climb the bluff. “The 


390 jack’s afire, 

other hills hide their rocks by trees, but this stands out 
gray and grim.” 

They gathered blue bells, clinging to the rocks, and 
looked down the valley over the steep sides, when they 
reached the top. “ Something tender clings to the rough- 
est,” said Robert, as he tossed a handful of flowers into 
Christa’s lap. 

Lilian enjoyed the day with the zest of a child. “ You 
are lovely millers, who grind out pleasant surprises for me 
every few days ! ” she said enthusiastically. 

“And we receive toll from you in return,” said Aggie. 

“When can I come again, Madie?” Ralph asked, when 
he went to say “good by.” 

“ When papa and mamma come home. We shall be 
glad to see you always.” 

“ Oh, Madie! Madie! ” 

“Good by,” she said, looking at him through her 
tears. 

Ralph left her, and joined Robert, with a more lonely 
feeling in his heart than he had ever known before. 

“ She will never come to me. This giving her up is 
final, and I shall never see her again!” he thought 
sadly. • 


ORi THE BURTON TORCH. 


391 


CHAPTEK XLITI. 

ALMOST AN EPIDEMIC. 

Madie was very quiet for days after Ralph’s departure. 
“ The summer nearly gone and no time to rest yet! There 
is no use to try to deny it; I am completely tired.” She 
laid her pencil down, and thought of Josie’s wail when her 
parents went away. “ I want my own father and mother, 
and just no one else.” 

Christa held out her hand. “ Your forfeit, if you please. 
Miss Burton.” 

“ ‘Jack ’ has not expired. I let go for a moment to rest.” 

“You have carried it well, darling! It will never go 
out in your hands.” 

“I must go and see Mrs. Ripley. She is not at all 
well.” 

As she was tying on her hat, the boy from the Mes- 
senger office brought a note to her. An invitation from Mr. 
Roby, to drive that evening. 

“What shall I do?” 

“ Go, certainly,” said Christa, when she had read the 
note. Madie wrote a note of acceptance, and gave it to 
the boy. 

“How indifferent you are,” said Christa. 

“How should I act?” But she went out without Avait- 
ing for an answer. 

She found Mrs. Ripley very much Avorse. “ I shall come 
back and stay with you to night. You must not be left 
alone,” she said to Lilian, when she left. 

The ride that evening was pleasant. The two had 
many tastes in common, and that always places people on 
an equal footing. Madie told her companion of Lilian’s 
mother, adding, “She is such a frail little thing that I 
shall be afraid for her if this loss comes. She will be all 
alone.” 


392 jack’s afire, 

“ Can I be of service to you or her? If so, do not hesi- 
tate to call on me.” 

“I will not, if you are needed.” 

“ I like the little girl, and would do all I could for any 
of your friends,” with a slight emphasis on the pronoun. 

'‘I thank you for this pleasant companionship. I hope 
it may be the beginning of many pleasant trips that will 
be entertaining and profitable to both.” 

‘‘Good night. I am, also, grateful for the ride.” 

All through the remaining month of summer Mr. Koby 
was very devoted. Each of the girls, in turn, managed to 
spend many hours with Lilian and her mother. One 
morning Miss Cragie came home with the intelligence 
that the frail girl was alone in the world. Mrs. Peyton 
went to stay with her. 

“ What can I do, Lily darling?” asked Madie, holding 
her close in her arms. 

“ Nothing; but bring my mother back to me.” 

“ I would if I could.” She did not tell her that “ it 
was all for the best,” that “ her mother was happier now.” 
Lilian knew that herself. When the shadow first falls, 
silence, or simple words of love, is best. 

When the body was laid away, Madie went to Lilian. 
“ Come with us, we are working women together. I 
think we all need you. I have lost a dear one, tco. 
Come!” 

The orphan packed her belongings, and tearfully bade 
farewell to the rooms which she had found so desolate, 
and had made of them a cheerful home. 

“You shall have a small room to yourself now, and a 
larger one after a while. We are going to enlarge our 
house, as a surprise for papa and mamma when they come, 
and you shall have an apartment where you can put all 
your little treasures.” 

“I will thank you by and by; I don’t believe 1 can 
now,” said Lilian tearfully. 

Mrs. Leith had long been an admirer of Miss Bipley, 
and gladly accepted her tasteful suggestion in regard to 
the home arrangements. “Ilka body has her ain gait 


Oli, the burton torch. 


393 


to gang. Yon are better i’ the parlor, and I am gude 
wi’ the kitchen work,” she said, her lionest face glowing 
with satisfaction as she Avatched Lilian arrange the deli- 
cate ornaments on the mantel. 

Mr. Roby became more and more dei^oted to Madie. 
He let her see in many ways that she was growing neces- 
sary to his happiness. 

“ She ought to be very happy with him. I think him 
the nicest man I ever have known,” thought Lilian. 

Madie herself half thought that it would be better so. 
It was a strong temptation to her. “Both papers could 
then be consolidated, my work could go on just the same 
as now; and I have a sincere friendship for him. I don’t 
belieA^e he is so much in love with me, as he is thoroughly 
satisfied. He has given me to understand that he thinks 
I would be a help to him.” She considered it in the 
light of a business arrangement. “Perhaps I had better 
accept.” But the woman spoke then: “I cannot do it. 
If I should have trouble to face I never could go to him, 
for I should remember that I married him to further 
my ambition. What faith could he have in me, if he 
knew? Ambition is not all! ” 

She was busy with her work the next time Mr. Roby 
called. Lilian entertained him. Madie came in for a 
few moments, just before he went away. “ I have been 
neglecting my Avork lately,” she said; while she thought, 
“It is kinder of me to do this than it would be to let him 
go any further.” 

“The evening has not been altogether unsatisfactory, 
after all,” the editor declared to himself when he left the 
house. 

He continued his calls ; but, after the first, was neither 
surprised nor greatly disappointed that he saw Madie, 
Christa and Jean for only a short time, and spent the 
remainder of the evening with Lilian. The three editors 
were very busy during the autumn months, and worked 
every evening. 

One night Mr. -Roby ordered his carriage. “If Miss 
Burton is too busy, I will take Miss Ripley. Perhaps 


394 


jack’s afire, 


she may not care to play second in that way. I ought to 
have written a note, but we ought to have gotten beyond 
such formality by this time.” With a vague idea that he 
was going to invite some one of the young ladies there, 
he rang the bell. 

He knew by the slow, uneven footsteps that Lilian was 
coming to the door. So it was she that he invited. Madie 
brought a shawl. “The evenings are cool and you will 
need it.” She stood on the verandah and saw them drive 
away. 

“I wonder if she didn’t want to go? No, I do not 
think she did.” This thought of Lilian’s answered the 
other. 

Mr Roby usually amused her, as he w^ould a child, 
with bright, pleasant sayings, yet sometimes, as to-night, 
he felt as if he were talking to an earnest, intelligent 
woman. 

“Heigh-ho! there’s no fool like an old fool. Here is 
another picture of ‘January and June!’ I must put it 
out of my mind. I can be kind and fatherly, or at least 
elder brotherly to all these girls. How Miss Madie does 
improve ! Her paper is going way ahead of mine, though 
there are a few old fogies, like myself, who hate to ac- 
knowledge it,” the editor mused, as he sat in his own 
room that night.' 

In the next house another romance w^as trying to thrive. 
Mrs. Peyton had heard Aggie spoken of twice as a pros- 
pective spinster — she was in reality twenty-five — and it 
troubled her greatly. 

“ Aggie, you never will marry, I’m afraid! ” 

“ It doesn’t look very encouraging, mamma. I never 
have had an offer yet, and I’m glad I haven’t any to brag 
of. You aren’t tired of seeing me here, are you?” 

“No, Aggie; only most all your friends are married, 
or going to be, and I do enjoy the preparations for a 
wedding. It has been a long time since I have been in- 
terested in one.” 

“It does seem too bad that you and papa are the only 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


395 


ones in the family who are married. Robert ought to be 
the next.” 

“ He will wait forever for Christa Burton!” 

“He will be rewarded at last, mamma; in the meantime 
let us glean as mu^h happiness as we can along our soli- 
tary way ! ” Mrs. Peyton smiled, and the subject dropped. 

A gentleman from New York was visiting at a friend’s, 
across the street from Mr. Peyton’s. “ I want you to 
meet Miss Peyton, she is a charming girl,” said his 
hostess. 

“ I hope I may have that pleasure then.” Aggie, not 
knowing that Mrs. Capron had company, ran in soon 
after; she never walked when she could just as well skip 
along. 

Mr. Desmond was charmed immediately. During the 
conversation he spoke of his wife, and looked at Aggie, 
searchingly. The young lady did not make a long 
call. 

When she left there, she went straight to her friends. 
The four girls were alone. “Girls! I am afraid I have 
found another widower. His tone, when he mentioned 
his wife, sounded as if she used to be, but was not now, and 
he looked at me as if I resembled some one whom he had 
known. Isn’t it dreadful that no woman who looks as I 
do can live?” 

The girls could not refrain from laughter. Aggie had 
a way of saying things that was irresistibly funny. “I 
know that Mrs. Capron had spoken of me to him, from the 
appearance of both of them. I like her ever so well, but 
she tells her husband everything, so I cannot make a con- 
fidential friend of her. How could I, when I know that 
they will be repeated to a third party ? ” 

“ She is happily married herself, and wishes to see all 
her friends comfortably settled. I presume she does not 
stop to study into the wisdom of the step, in every in- 
stance,” said Christa. 

Mr. Desmond was a persevering man, and devoted him- 
self to Aggie from that time. Mrs. Capron said: “You 


jack’s afire, 


81 )() 

(^airt do better! He will dress you splendidly, and you 
need never lift your, finger to do a particle of work.” 

1 hardly consider tliat an inducement. I know that I 
have never had much of an object in life, and I am ashamed 
of it. But I believe I could support myself if it were 
necessary, and be happy, too.” 

Mrs. Capron thought best to make no reply. 

Aggie went, as usual, to the girls. “ My worst fears 
are realized! I am going to be here frequently, foi’ia few 
weeks. Whenever Mr. Desmond calls, mamma leaves 
me as if the bill of sale were all made out, and he could 
take the article as soon as he wished. He takes to matri- 
mony dreadful easy. The fourth place in his affections 
is the best he can do now. I coughed badly the other 
night; I didn’t know but he might think I was not 
long for this world, but he seemed to like me all the bet- 
ter for that.” 

“ Do you think you are treating him as you ought?” 
asked Jean . 

“I would not speak of him to anyone else. But you 
are like sisters, and the only ones I can talk to. 
I see, too, the tribute he pays me. He offers the best he 
has. But he is nearly sixty. He has amassed his for- 
tune in speculations that are no more honorable than 
gambling. His reputation isn’t spotless ejther, and, 
though the world does not severely censure, I could not 
marry a man who was not his ‘ sister’s, as well as his 
brother’s keeper.’ ” 

“Bravo!” cried Madie, clapping her hands. 

“He has Honorable prefixed to his name,” said Christa. 

“I know; but I think that it is only an adjustable title 
that he puts on when away from home. I think he was a 
policeman when he was young and aspiring. 

“If you ever hear that I am married, you can make up 
your minds that I am irrevocably in love, that he is my 
equal, and I may think him more, and that he will be 
temperate and clean. Whether he be rich or poor, hand- 
some or homely, you ‘ must find out for yourselves. I 
rather hope he will be homelike. If the right man comes. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


397 


and we love each other, I will tell you ; if not, I shall do 
the best I can with Agnes Peyton.” 

“ I shall start a matrimonial column, Avith you and Mrs. 
Crowan as joint editors,” said Madie. 

“No, indeed; I have said my say now, and will have 
nothing to ‘ lay over for the next issue.’ I had better dis- 
cussed the silver bill or something else that I did not un- 
derstand.” 

During the autumn, they had their house altered, car- 
rying out, as nearly as they could, the plans they had 
gone over with their parents before they left. 

New Years came to them, and in two days Jean was to 
leave them. “ I am glad Lilian is here; I shall not feel 
as if I were leaving you all alone.” 

The nimble fingers that had prepared her trousseau were 
resting idly on the window-sill. “ I am glad, too,” she 
said simply. “ But I shall miss you, Jean.” 

“It seems as if we all wanted you, and only your pres- 
ence would satisfy us,” said Christa. 

“ I am not going to have you go to a great deal of prep- 
aration, and leave you with the comforting thought following 
me that I have tired you all completely. Before I’ll have 
these last days pass in confusion. I’ll get a luncheon and 
go off somewhere.” 

Mrs. Leith laughed merrily. “ Miss Madeline is the 
one frae whom I receive my orders. She doesna seem to 
Avant you to gang awa’ frae her ain hoos. We all hae a 
moind to do the best we can for you, wha we all love sae 
dearly; I dinna doubt. Miss Jean, but we all wad be 
troubled more not to do’t.” 

Ray’s people were all there. Phil, genial and bright 
as eA^er ; Carrie, happy herself and doing all in her power 
to lead everyone to that blissful state. “ I like my hus- 
band’s children just as well as if they were ‘ my very own,’ 
as AA^e used to say of our dolls,” she said to Madie. 

Jean looked grandly beautiful in her plain traveling- 
dress, AAdien she solemnly pledged herself to her husband. 

She Avill be faithful in this, as in everything else,” said 
Madie. 


398 


jack’s afire. 


When they had gone, she went off alone. “ I just want 
Jean, and I know I can’t have her again. Why am I al- 
ways trying to grasp impossibilities ? Ray is proud and 
fond of her, and he may well be both.” 

Phil found time for several merry talks with Aggie. 
He remembered his oft-quoted comparison of her, and 
added another point of similarity: “A good deal of hit 
and miss about her, also! She is so changeable.” 

“ I have hardly had time to say a word to either Uncle 
Ben or Aunt Prue,” said Madie, when they were leaving, 
a few hours after the wedding. “ But I have felt as if 
there were a great deal of sunshine to spare both days you 
have been here.” 

“ Well, you have enjoyed your visit, or our visit a little, 
then,” said her aunt brightly. 

“I do not want many more such breaks in our family,” 
said Benjie^ 

While Josie sniffed and said: “What makes Jean 
marry and go off? I’m so mad at her and Ray; both of 
them.” 

r. Roby still called and enquired for all ; but seemed 
best satisfied with Lilian. 

“ I wonder if I asked for the other girls at all? I don’t 
believe I did,” he thought doubtfully, after he had spent 
an evening at the pleasant home. “ I wish I had accepted 
her that day she offered herself to me in my den; I 
would be safely out of the difficulty now. I have never 
read romances ; but I see now that I should have done so. 
I’ll talk to mother.” 

He acted immediately upon the resolution. “Mother, 
what would you say to anyone if you loved, or liked her, 
rather? I hate to say the other Avord, it makes me feel 
foolish.” 

“ What would I say, Eugene? Why, I’d tell her of it 
in the best English I could commaiM. I hope you Avill ; 
you’ve been alone a long time.” 

“More than two score years. If I should Avrite to her, 
I presume I should pen it like an editorial, or ‘ I now take 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH, 


399 


mj pen in hand.’ And. that isn’t just what I want to 
say.” 

“I never knew your audacity to forsake you; so you 
had better go right to her.” 

“Mother, I believe I will! But you see, I’ve been there 
once to-night, and its nearly midnight now. I think I 
had better wait.” 

The scately, white haired lady looked at her son, with 
eyes full of mirth. “ Eugene, you are wise in your con- 
clusions. I will call on the young ladies to-morrow. I 
have not been there since Jean Cragie left.” 

The girls were always glad to see Mrs. Boby. A thor- 
ough patrician with common sense to balance it. She en- 
joyed the young faces about her. “Come and see me 
often. I intend to be gayer this winter. Do not make a 
call ; but come with the expectation of spending the even- 
ing.” 

“ Do not go yet,” urged Christa. 

“I must go home, my son will expect to find me 
when he returns. I came late in order to find you all 
here.” Her son was at the door, at this moment. 

“Miss Lilian, will you ride this evening?” 

There was a crimson dash on her delicate face as she 
accepted the invitation. 

“I will stay here until you return,” said Mrs. Boby. 
Madie and Christa enjoyed one of the recti visits that we 
have only once in a while. 

“Lilian, do you remember what you said to me the 
first time we ever met?” 

“I said a great many things, and you didn’t seem to 
understand me.” 

“Oh, yes; I think I did, apart of it, at least. You said 
‘I didn’t like you at all at first, but I do now.’ I have 
been glad of that, Lilian. I asked you -Avlien it Avas to 
be?’ and you answered: ‘WheneA^er you want it.’ I 
Avant it to be just as soon as you can come to me. I 
thought a good many things then, and I have thought a 
great many more since. I liked you at first. I haA^e a 


400 


jack’s afire, 


stronger feeling for yon now : I think it will keep on in- 
creasing all the (lays of my life. I’m not giving to ro- 
mancing, and I know my feelings will never change in 
regard to yon. 

“I shall be an editor as long as I live; bnt I know I 
shall be a very poor one, from this time, nnless yon prom- 
ise to come and help me.” 

“Bnt yonr mother ” 

“Will be very glad, for me and for herself, to have 
yon come to ns. Lilian yon are as qniet as I was that 
day, last spring. Aren’t yon going to answer me? I 
wonder if everyone is silent when receiving an offer of 
marriage ? I was and yon are. Shall yon throw this into 
the waste-basket?” 

“No;^I think it is in every way snitable, and ” 

“What?” 

“Yes; Mr. Eoby.” 

The editor was happy, and the little lame girl was never 
more to know the stings of poverty ; encircled by the love 
of this eccentric man, she looked ont into the world with 
happy, glad eyes. 

Mrs. Eoby heard them as they drove up. “I will not 
keep him waiting. Now remember yon are to come soon,” 
she said. Her keen old eyes saw the tears and smiles on 
the young face, as the light of the hall lamp shown upon 
it; she stooped and kissed her, and Lilian went on to her 
room. 

“Eugene, shall T condole with yon?” 

“I think yon had better, mother. I shall sing ‘Old 
Hundred’ right here on the street if something isn’t said 
to sober me.” 

“I think that would hardly do for a staid bachelor and 
a newspaper man at that.” 

“ You can’t apply the first title to me much longer. My 
little Lily,” he said under his breath, “when yon are 
transplanted to my home, I hope yon may be as happy 
as I wish yon to be.” 

“It’s going through this street like an epidemic,” 
groaned Christa, when she heard of the new engage- 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


401 


ment. •• Who is to be the next one? I take a powerful 
disinfectant in the shape of the oldest dresses I can find, 
but I haven’t a doubt but what I shall be the next to be 
taken.” 

“ I beg of you to wait until papa and mamma come 
home. I am not equal to the task of chaperoning any 
more lovers ! ” cried Madie. 

Bert and Benjie were quite disgusted. The little girl, 
who had done so much to entertain them and assist them 
in many ways, was a companion they hated to lose. They 
did not know very much about ladies, save their school- 
mates and those that comprised their home circle. 

“I can’t see what she wants to leave us and go to 
Eoby’s for.” 

“ Mr. Eoby,” corrected Madie. 

“ Oh, well, I know,” said Bert, and then laughed, a 
little ashamed of himself. 

“I am glad for Lilian’s own sake that she is going to 
a bright, happy home where she will be tenderly cared 
for. She is too frail and slender to always do for herself.” 

“ If she were only large and strong like you, I sup- 
pose she could get along.” He looked down at his sister 
whose head came just above his shoulder. “I feel 
ashamed every day that you work to keep us in school.” 

“As I have said many times, Bert, you can both do 
better work if you are thoroughly prepared for it. I 
have had to be strong, because there has been much de- 
pending upon me. You do help in the type-room, with ^ 
the locals, and all you can, aside from your school work.” 

Both boys gave her a “ regular bear hug,” as Josie 
termed their caresses, and went on to school. “ Our sis- 
ters ” were the pride of each. 


2o 


402 


jack’s afire, 


CHAPTEE XLIV. 

? AND ! 

“We are coming home the 10th of April.” What a 
shout went up when Madie read the letter. 

“ ‘ Coming home! ’ I do not believe we will be disap- 
pointed this time,” said Christa. 

“ I am glad that we only have three days to wait,” said 
Benjie. 

“Is it morning time or night time now?” Josie used 
to ask when she first began to talk. Madie remembered 
the saying, and said, “ It is all morning time now.” 

“ Madie, I wish you would find something light and 
nice to put on,” said Josie, coaxingly. 

“ I have worn these somber colors as a protection, and 
I have felt like wearing them, but I will dress brightly 
for papa and mamma,” she promised. 

“ Let me arrange the house. I am going to hang 
those pretty sketches of Christa’s on the wall and make 
the room look bright.” 

“If you will, Lilian,” said Madie. “You will do it so 
nicely. ‘ They are coming 1 ’ the clock ticks it, and the 
teakettle hums it, and my steps echo it as I go down the 
street. Those words fill all the hours that are passing 
now.” 

“Madie laughs and sings just as she used to,” Bert 
whispered to Benjie. 

“ Winter is running away in a thousand little rills, and 
I am right glad,” said Lilian. “ It should be spring- 
time without and within, to-morrow. The clover and 
grass is springing up all along the edge of the walk, and 
I heard a robin this morning ; it said, ‘ Spring is com- 
ing.’ ” 

“No; it said, ‘ They is coming!’ ” said Josie emphat- 
ically. 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 403 

“ So they are, darling, and we will ‘ never mind the 
weather ! ’ ” said Christa. 

“We never had so much difficulty in keeping inter- 
ested in the work as to-day ! ” both sisters confessed on 
that last evening that they were to spend alone. 

“How slowly the minutes drag! They are handed 
over so grudgingly, it seems to me,” said Bert. 

“Will they like the house, I wonder? ” Benjie threw 
aside his book as he spoke. “ I can’t study to-night.” 

“Will they think we have done well?” 

“If we are patient a little longer, Christa, the ques- 
tions will all be answered. Will papa look as he did be- 
fore he was sick? ” 

“ There, Madie; who is asking questions now? ” But 
Madie only smiled at Bert in reply. 

The tenth of April came. “We must all go to the 
depot. I cannot delay the meeting a moment longer than 
is necessary,” said Christa. 

“We will have everything ready for you at home,” 
Lilian and Mrs. Leith promised. 

They stand on the platform, and it is difficult to tell 
which of the group is most eager. Bert, alert as usual, 
sees the smoke of the approaching engine. Madie’ s 
heart is beating so she can scarcely get her breath. “ How 
slowly it comes around the curve. I never knew it to 
make such poor time before,” said Benjie. 

The train stops, and they rush ahead. How many peo- 
ple who are strangers to them get off ! 

“ What makes them crowd along so? ” exclaimed Bert. 

No familiar faces make their appearance; Josie’s 
under lip comes out at this great disappointment. “ They 
have not come.” Each word fell heavily from the baby 
tongue. 

“No,” said Madie sadly. 

“There they are! Hurrah!” At Bert’s* words the 
days of absence are thrown back into the past, and they 
stand in the blissful present. The revulsion of feeling is 
too -much. They laugh, and cry, and talk, or almost 


404 


jack’s afire, 


scream together. Blase faces at the car windows are in- 
terested in this “ touch of nature that makes the whole 
world kin.” 

“We are attracting attention,” said Madie. 

“ Who cares if we are? I’ve always heard that travel 
was a great educator; and they can see a bit of joy here. 
Besides, they will have a pleasant thing to tell of when 
they get home,” said Bert. 

They crowd in front of and around them, getting in 
each others way, and if it had not been for the presence of 
mind of Robert Peyton, they would have found difficulty 
in reaching the carriage. 

“ I feel as if I were ten instead of nearly twenty- three,” 
said Christa. 

They all understand Josie’s feelings, when she says: 
“I want to get home and take off some of my clothes. I 
am so happy they feel tight.” 

“We have indulged in a few extravagances,” Madie ex- 
plained, as they neared the house. 

“ Why, is this home? ” 

“Yes, papa.” They looked doubtfully around. 

“ It must be, Madie, yet it is greatly changed for the 
better.” 

The children could not wait, but showed them through 
the house immediately. “How nice it is! and just as we 
all planned I” said Mrs. Burton. 

“We tried to have it as you wished it, but we could not 
quite remember in every particular.” 

“ It does seem to me as if it were all new, and it looks 
nicer, too! I guess ’cause I never looked through it with 
you before,” said Josie, clinging to a hand of each. 

“ It looks prettier to me than ever before; I think it 
must be for the same reason,” said Christa, with an affec- 
tionate look at each. 

Lilian had fled to her own room, thinking she would be 
the extra in this family gathering. She was thinkiijg 
sadly of her own mother when Madie called her. 

Her shyness speedily left her when she entered the 
room. “Mamma, this is Lilian.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


405 


“Lilian, I have been anxious to see my other daugh- 
ter,” and the great mother heart made "room for the 
orphan. 

Mr. Burton’s quiet, “ Lilian, come and welcome me 
home,” made her both glad and sad. 

“How can we work to-morrow?” Christa asked Madie. 

“ I don’t know, but the power to do will come with the 
day. It does seem, however, as if we could never settle 
into the old quiet. How did we ever get through those 
two years without them ?” 

“ An unanswerable question, Madie.” 

“ Please listen to me : I don’t want you to talk very 
much while I am gone. I am going after my doll that 
Lilian dressed forme,” Josie requested, as she trotted 
away in search of her “ Matilda doll.” 

“My feelings exactly!” laughed Madie. “Here I am 
letting Lilian do the honors of the house 1 ” recollecting 
herself, and going out to consult with Mrs. Leith about 
the supper, but, forgetting what she went for, came back 
and joined in the conversation. 

When the table was in readiness, Lilian called them. 
“ You must see our kind housekeeper, who has done so 
much to make our home life pleasant,” said Christa, 
taking Mary Leith by the arm and leading her forward as 
she spoke. 

“ I was rejoiced when I heard that Mrs. Bruce’s 
daughter was with my ain bairns,” said Mrs. Burton, 
adopting the Scotch dialect. 

“And the dochter is mair joyfu’ than she can tell’t to 
hae been wi’ your lads and lassies.” 

Early the next morning Mr. Burton went with his 
daughter to their work. “How is the business? But I 
need not ask, everything looks prosperous.” 

The editorial room was like a cosy sitting-room. “We 
have carried home with us,” said Christa. Her plans 
were exhibited, and her easel stood in the corner with its 
unfinished painting. “We can work better with the fa- 
miliar articles all around us. Madie and Jean did the jour- 
nalistic work, while I carried out my own plan of labor.” 


400 


jack’s afire, 


“You have ‘managed,’” said her father, with a smile. 

“We have all worked; the boys have done a great deal. 
We are not wealthy yet, papa, but we are comfortable. 
Your’s and mamma’s letters have helped us wonderfully. 
I was sure when I wrote a good editorial, for people attrib- 
uted it to your sound judgment.” 

The bird in the cage at the window looked around with 
his little sharp eyes, turning his head on one side to 
study the intruder; the sunlight came in through the 
window, and the soft air breathed through the plants and 
blossoms. 

While she was preparing copy, Madie told of the work 
and plans. “Jack’s Afire yet!” she said triumphantly. 

“ I understand, Madie. Your mother and I have talked 
of it many times. Your motto has been as a beacon light 
to the entire family.” 

“ You can go over the business if you wish.” 

“No; I am more than satisfied with your statement. 
You have had a hard struggle ; I trust it may be brighter 
now. I shall never be strong, but I may be spared for 
many a year, and I am determined that the burden shall 
not lie so heavily on your young shoulders. I was nar- 
row and doubtful for a time, but my daughters have 
broadened my views, and I do not hesitate to say that I 
think you girls could do any work that you set out to do, 
for you would not set out to do impossibilities.” 

“ Any woman or man can do good work, if it is shown 
that it is necessary to be done,” said Madie. “We are 
repaid a thousand fold, papa.” 

“I am not sorry that my eldest children are girls. 
Possibly, if you had been boys, you would to-day be 
‘sowing wild oats,’ and causing us much trouble. Come 
in. Bell,” he said, as his wife appeared at the door. 

“ I could not endure the separation, so followed you, 
and arrived just in time to have my say.” 

“We are waiting to hear.” 

“It is this, Frank: Boys will be gentle and true if 
they are brought up in that way ; girls will be strong and 
self-reliant if there is need.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


407 


“I heartily endorse the position taken,” said Christa. 
“But our paper must go to pj-ess attliree o’clock.” 

Mr. Burton went to the table and worked with his 
daughters. 

“ Ealph came to see us just before we left. Madie, can 
you not give him the answer he wishes?” Mrs. Burton 
asked that evening. 

“Mamma, you, too ?” 

“He has been as one of our family so long, and I 
thought you might be happier with him.” 

“ I cannot let go until the boys are ready to put their 
‘shoulders to the wheel,’ and I cannot forget Douglas.” 

“ My darling, I do not want to selfishly keep you with 
me, but I am not sorry to know that you will stay Avith us.” 

“ Must it be seven years, Christa? ” 

“Yes, Eobert; papa cannot stand the entire work.” So 
Eobert waited still. 

“ Lilian, they do not need you, and I do,” Mr. Eoby 
emphatically declared. 

“Mr. Eoby, it is so short a time since mother left me.” 

“She would not wish you to be alone.” 

“ AYe have not been engaged a year, and it ought to be 
as long as that. We want to know each other better.” 

“ But, you see, I don’t want you to knoAv me any better. 
You might change your mind. AYe have been ‘engaged 
a year.’ It is just twelve months since you proposed to 
me and I accepted. It isn’t right to break one’s Avord in 
that way. If there’s any better in my nature you’ll be 
sure to bring it out.” 

“ It shall be as you wish, Mr. Eoby.” 

“ My mother gave me something years ago, and that 
gift has fallen into disuse. In my old age I want to turn 
it to account and you must help me. AYhat is the good 
of having anything that can’t be used? My given name 
is Eugene. It is a proper name, too ; I want you to make 
it common.” 

“Eugene,” she said, smiling, “when you want me, I 
Avill come.” 


408 jack’s afire, 

They helped her to get ready and she went to tlie home 
and love awaiting her. 

“My ‘Easter Lily!’ welcome,” said her husband. “ My 
paper shall grow broader and grander because of you ; my 
talks with you are ever a prelude to a grand thought 
song.” 

Many people have music, and paintings, and flowers, be- 
cause their neighbors’ houses are filled with them. Mrs. 
Eoby surrounded herself with them because she loved 
them, and home and beauty entered with her into that 
house, never to leave it again. 

“ My dollars used to be worth a hundred cents, and I 
kept them ; now they are all trade dollars for the benefit 
of my wife and me,” said the happy husband, as he lav- 
ished his gifts upon his equally happy wife. 

“ If mamma only knew of my joy.” 

“ I think she does, Lilian, for I believe that way up 
yonder her song will be gladder and brighter because of 
your happiness here,” said Madie. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


409 


CHAPTER XLV. 

SEARCHING FOR REST ANT) FINDING CONTENT. 

Glad moments dance away so fast. The summer was 
gone before they knew it. 

Madie was very tired. Each member of the family 
noticed her wearied look. 

‘‘I wish she would take a vacation, but I know she will 
not,” said Christa anxiously. 

They were all surprised that Mrs. Crowan had not 
made them a real visit since their parents had come 
home. One afternoon she came to see them. 

“I knew you were at home, and was glad of it. I felt 
comfortable thinking of your nearness. But I hain’t had 
time to more than call on anybody all summer. When 
we came in town, we had to rush back again to do the 
chores. The work has to go on, and you know yourself 
that you canT do a thing on a farm and have it stay done ; 
especially the housework; that is just like a daily paper — 
has to be gone over every day. I never can get meals of 
victuals enough but what there is always one ahead of me. 

“Mattie’s schoolmate, Nellie Blair, is there with ’em 
this week, so I just left ’em to visit by themselves, and 
started for town. She is one of your heroinish sort of 
girls. A real good little thing ; but she has got it into 
her head that she is living a novel. I get her to realizing 
once in a while that life is filled with dates and battles, 
and treaties, and discoveries, just like any other history, 
and she is sweet and sensible. I had a dretful headache 
the other day, and she bathed it, and sung to me until 
the pain all left. I told Mattie, before she came out to 
our house two years ago, that I hated to have her come. 
I thought she wouldn’t enjoy it at all among us working 
folks ; but she did, I guess, for she has come back both 
summers since, and runs all over the farm. When I first 


410 


jack’s afire, 


met her I was most afraid to talk, but I soon got over it. 
She has her hair fixed in that new way ; and it does look 
so confused that I feel sorry for the girl, and would like 
to smooth it back. When I first seen her, she looked so 
much like a poodle that I was afraid I’d call her it! But 
as I said before, she is an awful nice girl, when she 
doesn’t put herself in a book, and lives along wdth the 
rest of us. I wanted to say this much, because I have 
already mentioned her to Madie and Christa, and I didn’t 
think it was exactly kind. I like to have everyone stand 
for all she is worth. Now we will settle down for a visit.” 

The two mothers spent a pleasant time until the rest of 
the family came home. Mrs. Burton had an interested 
listener while she was relating incidents of her absence. 

“ My teacher says, ‘things are passing strange!’ What 
does she mean?” 

“Ask Mrs. Crowan, Josie,” said Madie. 

“Means that she has studied into the world a good 
deal, or else she hasn’t got far enough along to know just 
what to say to children!” 

“I knew you would have an answer ready.” 

“I read your ‘Thinks’ with interest, Mrs. Crowan.” 

“I don’t know what to say! It is hard to tell what 
you are expected to say when you are complimented. I’m 
real glad if you was interested, for that is next thing to 
liking Lots of folks don’t seem to think that you ought 
to say you’re glad. I am awful pleased to see my writ- 
ings in the paper; and look at them wdth more interest 
than ever when they come back to me.” 

“ ‘ None but an author knows an author’s cares,’ ” quoted 
Christa. 

“ John tipped a whole lot of green paint on the back 
stoop the other day. We hain’t any of us called him an 
artist yet. Just because I have spilled a few thoughts 
through your paper, I don’t call myself an author.” 

“We have some photographs,” said Mrs. Burton, show- 
ing her the pictures of Jean, Bay, Ned, Sada, and little 
Madie, that she had brought home with her. 

“Those are all sensible and natural.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


411 


“Here is little Mrs. Erie,” said. Madie, exhibiting a 
card, with the face turned so that she was looking over 
her shoulder. 

“Thats’ too bad! for it does seem tedious and mournful 
to always remember a friend in that uncomfortable posi- 
tion.” 

“Why don’t you have your photograph taken?” asked 
Christa. “We would all be so glad of one.” 

“Well, I did try, but it looked so much like those 
patent medicine advertisements ‘before taking,’ that I 
didn’t have ’em struck off. I want to have a natural pic- 
ture, but I do wish it would look a little nice, too, so that 
folks wouldn’t have to make excuses for me and say, 
‘ homely but real good,’ while they was showing it.” 

Mr. Crowan came in to spend the evening, and go home 
with his wife. It was Josie’s bed-time; she had omitted 
her long prayer, since her father and mother were with 
her again, and said the simple, 

“Now I lay me.” 

The words came to them from the room where she and 
her mother had gone. 

“ I love to hear children say that prayer. There is so 
much real resting faith in it.” 

“It is nice for grown people as well,” said Mr. Burton. 

“Yes,” continued Mrs. Crowan, “if they don’t say it 
at morning and noon, as well as at night. It doesn’t seem 
just right for a busy, working Christian to say it all the 
time. It’s selfish — only ‘my soul to take;’ and a good 
many of us ‘lay down to sleep’ a great deal more than 
there is any need of. I like to see positive goodness. A 
goodness that takes a body on the main line, just be- 
cause he happened to get on there, and he hain’t the 
energy to switch off, is better than none at all; but there 
ain’t the force and grandeur about him that there is 
about one that sees every curve, and switch, and pitfall, 
and steers right on. To see a danger and face it, is better 
than to shut your eyes and stumble along.” 

“I should think the devil would take that kind, Lizy.” 


412 


jack’s afire, 


“He does — some of them — hut they ain’t exactly the 
kind that he is working hardest to get. If a man wants 
to wreck a train, he doesn’t go into the sleeping car, but 
he disables them that stand ahead. If we were only as 
energetic as the devil, we’d do a good deal more than we 
do. There, John, let us go home. I’ve got way out in 
theology, and when I get to talking on that subject, I 
have to stop aw’hile and see where I’ve gone to.” 

“She is Mrs. Crowan still,” said Mrs. Burton, when 
she had bidden the visitors good night. 

“Yes, and I do not think there ever was another just 
like her,” said Madie. 

“The same might be said of all of us.” 

“But with certain exceptions and modifications, 
Christa,” said her father. 

“I wish I could realize the rapid flight of time. I do 
not seem to at all,” said Madie, one morning in February, 
as she went to the Headlight office with her father and sis- 
ter. “ The wind is holding rehearsal to-day, for the 
drama it is to give us in March. 

“How nice it is to have you with us, papa! It comes 
over me with a glad rush every day. Even after you have 
been home so long.” 

“Head your column ‘ Scattered Thoughts,’ as that will 
be the best description,” said Christa, laughing. 

Madie was far from feeling as blithely as she would 
have the others believe. The years of work were begin- 
ning to assert themselves. 

“You must rest,” said Christa. 

“After the boys graduate, I will.” 

The poor of the city needed aid; many of them were 
families that had spent every cent to come "West, and 
were obliged to take up winter quarters in the city. “ They 
seem to think that money is to be picked iip on our broad 
prairies,” said Mr. Boby. “ They ought to come in the 
spring, when they could turn the furrows ; they would be 
more apt to find it.” 

A benefit was proposed. “ Church sociables are usually 


OK, THE BURTON TORCH. 


413 


such unsociable affairs. We could make more out of a 
general entertainment,” said the leading spirit of the en- 
terprise. 

Madie was called upon to take part. “ I will sing, if 
that will be of any assistance to you ; but I do not wish to 
take part in the charaues and tableaux.” 

Clayton was yet unworldly enough to enjoy a home en- 
tertainment, and the audience was a large one. 

Madie’s thoughts were far back in the past all the even- 
ing, thinking sadly of Douglas, and surprising herself 
with the sudden recollection that she was thinking of 
Ealph, too. “I must do something for Douglas; some- 
thing for his memory,” and a vague plan began to grow 
into a definite thought. 

“It is just spring fever, papa. I shall be rested as soon 
as summer comes.” 

“ Madie, you must go to the mountains, and visit Jean 
and Sada. They have written for you so many times. 
You will come back rested. You said you would take a 
vacation as soon as the boys graduated, and I shall make 
you keep your word. You urged papa to go, now I shall 
be inexorable. Bert and Benjie will take your place. I 
command you to go home, and do not come back to the 
office until the summer is gone.” 

“ Some people are born selfish, some achieve selfish- 
ness, and some have selfishness thrust upon them,” paro- 
died Madie, but she obeyed Christa’s command, and went 
home. 

“Even her voice is weary,” said Mr. Burton. “ I am 
glad that you managed to drive her away, Christa.” 

One bright June morning, Madie began to “ search for 
rest.” 

“I will go to Uncle Joe’s first. I want to fulfill my 
promise to Douglas, and visit his people. Then I 
will turn westward,” she had told her own people. So 
she went to the old chapel and tenement houses, and saw, 
herself, the good the legacy of her lost love was doing. 


414 


jack’s afire, 


“Do you know the truth now up in Heaven?” she mur- 
mured, as she left the grassy-curtained tent where Douglas 
was lying. 

With her western relatives she spent a delightful 
summer. The inhabitants of that mountain city were sur- 
prised that Prof. Mills should spend his vacation there, but 
his old-time friends were not at all astonished. 

He was Madie’s escort, by common consent. 

“ Let us leave briefs, books and chains, and go up and 
down the mountains. I want Macjie to see our rugged 
scenery.” 

“Ned, ‘where thou goest I will go,’ and so shall all my 
friends,” said Sada firmly. 

“We will go by rail a little farther west, and then we 
can begin our wanderings,” said Ray. 

“We will show Madie a small canon,” added Jean. 

“I beg of you not to promise any more until we begin 
our journey,” said Ralph, laughing. 

“I am always interested in my fellow passengers, and 
though not one is labeled I believe I can classify many of 
them,” Madie said, when they were steaming through the 
mountains. 

“We will give ourselves up to the pursuit of happiness, 
and we will win in the race, I think.” Jean looked from 
the window, and from that time did not try to carry 
on a conversation. Nature had said “See!” and they 
scvw and wei-^ dumb. The mountains rolled away be- 
fore them. On either side of the valley were irrigated 
fields. 

“‘The armed squadrons of corn are marching to the 
tune of 100 deg. in the shade,’” quoted Jean, filled with 
admiration of the scene before her. 

‘“They have whipped out all their swords and thrown 
away the scabbards,’ ” said Madie, going on with the quo- 
tation. 

“ ‘ The world is out of sight The high tides of mid- 
&ummer have rolled over it,’ ” said Ray, going backward 
in the page they were quoting from. 


OE, THE BURTON TORCH. 


415 


Ned was interested, “What book is it that yon are 
reciting to ns piece-meal ? ” 

“Neither from Blackstone nor Kent. Yon shonld get 
one of Taylor’s works and read it, and yon will be better 
and happier all the rest of the year.” 

“Thank yon, professor, I think I shall profit by yonr 
advice.” 

They stop at a little mining town and go down to the 
rapid river near. “If this is a view of a ‘small canon,’ 
what mnst the large ones be?” exclaimed Madie, lost in 
wonder at the strange shape of the rocks that the river 
had bnrrowed its way throngh. “How this stream has 
settled away from the sniilight, and yonder is a place 
where the river is almost crowded ont of existence.” 

They go throngh a winding gorge, the rocks meeting 
above their heads, the sides dripping and moss-grown. 
Where pine trees send their roots straight down over the 
rocks for earth, and lift themselves straight np to the top 
for air and light. “ For dolTnright ambition in the veg- 
etable world, recommend me to a monntain pine,” said 
Ned, as he pansed for a moment in his npward climb. 

The noonday snn sent down only a glimmer of light. 

“ The snn seems as anxions to see this spot as we onr- 
selves, and only gets this one peep every day, after all 
these years of the earth’s whirling toward and away from 
him.” 

“ He has a chance to see a great deal, thongh,” said 
Jean, taking np Madie’ s thongh t and adding one of her 
own to it, jnst as they had done in by-gone days. 

They met many a little brook dancing over the rocks 
and hnrrying on to the river. “ Natnre’s langhter,” said 
Madie. 

A climb np and a scramble down, and they are in a 
gnlch. “These names are all wicked names, Madie, and I 
will not spoil yonr enjoyment of the places by repeating 
them to yon.” 

“ I feel the Mighty Presence, and do not wish to have 
the reverent feeling destroyed. Thank yon, Jean,” said 
Madie. 


416 


jack’s afire, 


“I should think the witches might hold /high carnival 
here,” said Bay, as he looked at the huge boulders. 

“I hear a waterfall!” cried Ned, eager as a school- 
boy, and he went in search. “You can see it by climb- 
ing out on this ledge of rocks.” So they clamber to the 
very edge, and see the silver ribbon wave out in the sun- 
light. 

They walk back to the rudely built and sometimes rudely 
behaved town. “ Civilization is not behind but in front 
of us. There is an ice cream pavilion, and ‘ Stop that 
cough!’ is on this rock,” said Jean. 

We will secure mules and go to the ‘snow line’ to- 
morrow,” Bay promised them when they had eaten sup- 
per. 

“If I continue resting so energetically, I can return in 
a few weeks,” said Madie, laughing. 

“We are not going to let you indulge in any mental 
gymnastics. This is a brain recreation,” Sada said, and 
they separated for the night.* 

The next morning they experienced the novel sensation 
of a snow storm in July. “ I never tried to climb through 
the seasons before,” said Madie, “ but I have enjoyed the 
effort.” When they began their descent she said to 
Balph : 

“I can better understand the meaning of a ‘ shadow of 
a great rock within a weary land,’ after seeing all this cool- 
ness and vastness.” 

“Yes, the rock shadows are mighty here.” 

“ The sun does not shine so brightly to-day. I should 
like to hear the thunder reverberate along those mountain 
sides,” said Sada. 

“ Yes, it would add to the grandeur, but not to the ten- 
derness of the scene,” Jean said, standing on a rocky 
point and looking away to the south. “ ‘ There are the 
cattle on a thousand hills! ’ ” she cried, pointing to a mov- 
ing mass, miles away. 

“Here is the ‘tenderness,’ Jean,” said Madie, when she 
reached the mountain’s foot and gathered a few hardy wild 
flowers. “ ‘He crowneth us with loving kindness.’ ” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


417 


“Can you not be kind, too, Madie? ” Ralph asked, mean- 
turned from him suddenly, and went away to 

Sada. 

They indulged in gay badinage on the homeward 
journey. “Be careful of your sayings!’' said Ned, 

“ * A chiel's amang us takin’ notes.’ 

I presume memories of this excursion will be sent to the 
Headlights 

“ I should like to tell them, but I am mentally too weak 
to take hold of such a grand theme and lift it over to 
them. I can write about a trifling event, but such a day 
and scene overpowers me. I am the lesser of the two. I 
shall tell them that I took this delightful trip, and when 
our readers have the opportunity to ‘go and do like- 
wise.’” 

The lamps were lighted when they returned to their 
homes. “We will go and get Madie, and you can go home 
the shorter way,” said Sada, who was anxious to see her 
little daughter, from whom she had never been separated 
for so long a time before. 

Ralph and Madie followed Jean and Ray. A lady, in 
one of the lighted houses they passed, was singing Kath - 
leen Mavourneen. “ Stop! I know that voice; I heard it 
more than four years ago.” The singer turned so she 
could see her face. “I know the face, too; I heard her 
singing that song the night I received the telegram that 
papa was sick.” 

“ I think you are not mistaken ; I know that she came 
from the East. I have only met her once or twice,” said 
Jean. 

“ I wish you would ascertain if she is the lady whom 
Madie so well remembers. It is a remarkable coinci- 
dence,” said Ralph. 

The next day they learned to a certainty that Madie’ s 
memory was not defective in this instance. 

“I am so delighted with her recognition! Tne song 
has been a favorite of mine ever since I learned it. I 
used to sing it frequently to my little niece, who was 

27 


418 


jack’s afire, 


equally fond of it. I shall keep my curtains back, here- 
after, and sing to passers by,” said the singer. 

Madie grew happy and strong in the pure mountain air, 
and surrounded by loved ones. 

Jean and Sada lived in adjoining houses. “It is hard 
for me to tell where I am visiting,” she declared merrily. 

“Visiting both,” said Sada, and so she was every day. 

They Avould have kept her longer, but she was firm in 
her determination to go to work the first of September. 

The last evening she was to spend with them, Ralph 
came, and the others quietly disappeared. Madie looked 
out at the shadowy mountains and hummed almost uncon- 
sciously : 

“ ‘ It may be for years ’ ” 

“Stop! Don’t sing ‘it may be forever.’ I can’t bear 
that.” 

“Douglas! forgive me! I cannot turn him away from 
my heart, loving, kind, great-hearted Ralph ; he has loved 
me so long!” she said, silently. 

“ Madie, I cannot tell you all the love there is in my 
heart for you alone. Come to me ; let me teach it to you 
daily for the rest of our lives, and I shall not be able to 
tell it all, even then.” 

She reached out both hands: “ Take me, Ralph, I am so 
tired.” 

“My affection is as lasting and deep as my gratitude for 
your love, dear. The love of a woman like you is the 
grandest thing on earth.” 

“I cannot leave home for more than a year, Ralph. 
Do not urge me to give up my work, when I am so nearly 
through. Bert will take my place, then. Ralph, I hate 
to give up the paper; the old numbers seem like my 
written self.” 

“You need not give it up. If I am sure of your love 
I can wait a little longer. You have never been one 
among women, but have stood out from all others in my 
iiionghts of noble womanhood.” 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


419 


Time was not reckoned in the blissful Paradise they 
were wandering down, until aroused by Ned’s violent 
coughing. 

“Madie must rest,” said Sada, with a smile, reading 
the happiness in her friend’s eyes. 

The parting the next morning was not a sad one, as all 
'knew, or guessed, that she was coming back to them. 


420 


jack’s afiee, 


CHAPTEE XLVI. 

finale: the woed paetially defined. 

The year, that was called the present, when Madie came 
back to her home, has passed away, and the next has bud- 
ded, blossomed and yielded its fruitage. We are living 
in the last month, and laying our plans and dreaming our 
dreams for the heir expectant of Father Time, who will 
bear all the treasures and memories of by-gone years on 
his youthful shoulders for a twelvemonth. 

“ There will be no place to put my thoughts, in a little 
while, and I shall not indulge in them so frequently,” 
said Madie, laying down her pen. 

Bert and Benjie are both fitted to enter the ranks and 
file of earnest workers. Bert’s chosen profession is jour- 
nalism, while Benjie is to attend to the bodily ills of the 
citizens of Clayton. 

Eobert had gone to Christa in the early autumn. 

“ The seven years are ended, and I am here.” 

“Eobert, I heard of a woman once who had to ‘marry a 
man to get rid of him;’ I believe I shall have to follow 
in her footsteps,” but her expression proved that she was 
not an unwilling imitator of that other woman. And 
these two had found the “ Northwest Passage to ar 
Earthly Paradise.” 

“We will begin the new year together. Eobert and 
Christa will be with us,” Madie had written to Ealph. 

On Christmas day Douglas Chapel was dedicated. It 
had been erected by Madie, as a school room and chapel 
for those who could not attend the public school, in honor 
of the man whose memory she revered. 

Clayton had grown to be a busy, noisy, river town, and 
a rough element of society had entered the corporation. 
“If we can get them to attend school, evenings through 
the week, we can gather them in on Sunday.” Aggie, 


OK, THE BUKTON TOKCH. 


421 


Christa, Lilian and Mr. Roby had promised to oversee it, 
and the enterprising citizens of Clayton had agreed to 
contribute to its support. 

“ Many would rather attend this school near the river 
than to mingle with the better dressed and more favored 
ones in the city,” said Mr. Roby, taking hold with energy. 
Christa had planned it, and loving hands had decorated 
it for the Christmas services. The room was crowded. 

“ Our school will flourish. We have a large number 
promised now; and the reading-room in connection with 
it will not fail to bring them in. Clayton will be a bet- 
ter city for this enterprise. We are slowly but surely 
finding out the meaning of the word spelled so long ago 
by Madie. I shall not be at all afraid to go out into 
streets and gather them in ; for at last I have found some- 
thing to do, though I do not suppose I should have 
gone out in search of it; you brought it right to me,” 
said Aggie. 

“The last day of the old year! The hours I am to 
spend with Christa Burton are numbered now. Will you 
come with me, dear?” asked Madie. They go to the 
office and chapel, and return to their home together. 

Their cousins from the west, and their eastern rela- 
tives are all there. “We want you to be present your- 
selves with us, and do not want you to yourselves present 
us with anything.” Christa had written this informal 
invitation to each, and they had answered her letter in 
nerson- but most of them had disobeyed orders relative to 
the gifts. 

The sisters are alone together. “From sixteen to 
twenty-seven,” said Madie. “I have been looking over 
our work, Christa. I have jotted it all down in this book 
for you. Here are the written years — the body, but the 
soul, where is that?” 

“Within us all,” was the soft answer. 

“We have had all the different kinds of talk together, 
and all the quiets, too.” 

Mrs. Burton came in to them. “What, crying on your 
wedding night ? ” — but her voice left her entirely. 


422 


jack’s afire, 


The beautiful wedding ceremony was ended, and they 
pressed forward with congratulations. “Mamma,” said 
Madie, winding her arms about her. “ I am glad and sad, 
both. But something tells me that we will be together 
always, even if I do leave you.” 

Phil gave a hearty caress to each of the brides, and 
looked as if he would like to extend it to the merry 
bridesmaids. “ Christa, I expected you would say when 
he asked if you would take this man, ‘ I guess I can man- 
age.’” 

Mrs. Carter was alternately congratulating and warn- 
ing. ‘ ‘ She has had in some respects a hard life, but 
I believe she enjoys thinking over what a miserable 
time she has had. A peace policy can be brought in with 
good effect with her, as well as myself.” 

“But she is interested in the welfare of all her 
nephews and nieces,” said Phil, who was renewing his 
old acquaintance with Aggie. “ Do you know why you 
are associated with the poor in my mind ? ” he asked, sud- 
denly changing the subject. 

“No; why am I, Phil?” 

“Because the Bible says, ‘the poor ye have always 
with you.’ Will you be one of these, Aggie, and wear 
this for my sake?” His tone was graver than she had 
ever heard from him before, and Aggie was subdued; but 
the spirit of mischief was yet strong. 

“ I suppose I had better, for all the girls are wearing 
them. But how about the rag-carpet comparison?” 

Phil looked at her until her cheeks flamed. “Solid 
colors, warranted to last a life-time ! ” 

“ Don’t you see, Phil, that I am going to cry?” 

“Let them come, Aggie,” with a happy smile; “we are 
as happy as any of them, aren’t we?” 

“Yes, Phil; but they will miss us,” said Aggie, as she 
broke away from him and left the library, whither they 
had wandered away from the others. 

Aggie goes with her friends to their room. 

“Have you anything to tell?” asked Madie, with a 
smile. 


OB, THE BUKTON TOBCH. 


423 


“Yes. Don’t look at me and I will tell it. Yon needn’t 
think I am going to give up the school ; for I am not. I 
am going to work right here for a year. It seems a little 
mean of me to give up my mission as soon as I have found 
it; but I am usually inconsistent. I am going to try to be 
like you girls, and Jean and Sada, a helper wherever I go. 
Phil says I do not remind him of anyone but myself, and 
it is comforting to know that I have a little individuality.” 

The girls lovingly congratulated her. “Let us hurry 
back to the others,” said Christa. “ We will watch the old 
year out together, before Madie leaves us.” 

They see Uncle Joe, Aunt Anna, Uncle Ben and Aunt 
Prue talking with their father and mother, smiling at 
the happiness of those around them, and looking out to- 
ward the sunset of life together. 

Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence forgot some of their worldly 
ideas as they looked at the happy home faces around them. 

“I knew years ago that Madie would make her way with 
her pen, and I ought to have claimed her by right of dis- 
covery,” said Prof Pearce. 

Mrs Boby, sweet-faced and happy, reads a little poem, 
dedicated to her two friends. Springing from her loving 
heart it reaches theirs. 

“ Do not call on me,” said Mr. Boby. “ I shall have to 
gather all these ingredients together, to serve up to my 
readers at breakfast to-morrow morning.” 

“ Shall you attend union services at the chapel to-mor- 
row? ” Mrs. Crowan asked of Mrs. Carter. 

“No. I am an Episcopalian, and never attend union 
services.” 

“ It will be a little awkward for her when she first gets 
to heaven,” Mrs. Crowan thinks, as Ned comes up to her. 

“ You haven’t changed greatly, Mrs. Crowan.” 

“No. There is no need of fretting yourself into wrink- 
les and gray hairs.” 

“ Your daughter is teaching,” said Jean. 

“ Yes,” putting a hairpin in place. “Mattie hain’t got 
a particle of nonsense about her. She likes to teach better 
than to do anything else ; so I advise her to keep at it. 


424 


jack’s afike, 


I’ve talked to Alice just as independent as I have to 
Mattie; but I rather guess she’ll many. I want her to be 
satisfied with her lot in life ; but I would like it better if 
she didn’t think so much of Henry Downs. He’s good 
enough; but every last one of them Downses calls his 
wife ‘My woman,’ and that always sets my teeth on edge. 
I hate to think of Alice being called ‘ My woman ’ or ‘ Ma’ 
all the days of her life. I suppose you will keep right on 
contributing to the Headlight f ” she asked, as she turned 
abruptly to Madie. 

“Yes, I shall send weekly letters to it, and help as much 
as I can,” was the answer. 

While Ned, just behind her, pronounced the word that 
had made her victorious years before: “Finale.” 

The clock is striking twelve. They stand silently wait- 
ing for the last stroke. “Is it all fleeting moments? 
Does the new year come to us as soon as the old year leaves ? 
It seems to me as if there were just an instant when time is 
not, and the scepter is held by neither the one nor the 
other,” mused Madie, as the last echo passed to the phan- 
tom of a sound. 

She takes the roll of papers — the business notes of all 
these years — and hands them to Bert. She looks at all, 
but lets her glance rest longest on Christa, who has stood 
by her so faithfully, and says, though her eyes are bright 
with the tears in them: “ The Torch did not go out, if the 
eldest were girls. We have given it ‘ swing enough ’ and 
there is no ‘forfeit to pay.’ Even down to little Josie, 
we can all cry ‘Jack’s Afire!’ ” 

The story is ended. The attempt has not been made 
to write a perfect life; only a human life — a lesson for 
human people. If one heaid is made lighter, or one face 
brighter, if there is brought a germ of faith in God or 
His world to a single mortal, because of something be- 
tween its covers, the object for which it was written is 
accomplished. We have tried to carry you into their 
home life. Yet, after all, we know that you have not been 
led to know them as we wished you to. 


OR, THE BURTON TORCH. 


425 


There is so much that must ever be unspoken, unwrit- 
ten and — yes — even unthought. There are many things 
we can really enjoy that are not tangible enough to even 
think about. 

We know and do not know! Perhaps we just touch 
them with our souls, or — well — it will have to be left a 
blank. The bridge reaches from the knowable to the un- 
knowable, and there is no prop for the far end of the 
span, unless it be in the “Beautiful Beyond.” 

So the pen is laid aside ! 











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